Cui Prodest
by Shaitanah
Summary: When Draco seeks refuge in the Order, Harry is assigned to protect him. Big mistake, that is. SLASH Please R&R!
1. Loneliness Be Over

**Title**: "Cui Prodest"

**Author**: Shaitanah

**Rating**: hard R (overall)

**Timeline**: post-HBP

**Summary**: When Draco seeks refuge in the Order, Harry is assigned to protect him. Big mistake, that is. Please R&R!

**Pairings**: Harry/Draco, minor Harry/Ginny, minor Ron/Hermione (in various chapters), etc.

**Disclaimer**: _'Harry Potter'_ belongs to JKR. The song _'Do This Anymore'_ belongs to _Nickelback_. The title for the chapter comes from a song by _Muse_. Hell! What is here that belongs to me!?

**Special thanks**: to my brilliant beta Lady Domino. Without her, it was a number of words. Now – it is a story.

**A/N**: This idea has been pestering me for a while. I planned it to be a one-shot but it seems to have grown far longer. My work controls me… again! Enjoy!

**CUI PRODEST**

**Chapter 1**

** _Loneliness Be Over_**

_Left on an eastbound train, gone first thing this morning. _

_Why's what's best for you, always the worst thing for me?_

They had another fight, and Draco stormed out of the small hotel room and into the night. Harry lowered himself on the bed, shaking nervously. Incomprehensible! What cruel fate made this decision for him? What imbecile puppeteer with a twisted sense of humour brought this responsibility upon him? To look after the Malfoy heir, to hide him from the cold-blooded shadow that would suck out his soul for such a morbid thing – to escape the Death Eaters' justice.

Harry hated it almost as much as he hated Malfoy himself. He could admit to it freely now: there were times when he wanted the bastard dead, sprawled at his feet, covered in blood, his expressive grey eyes lifelessly dim, his marble skin coated with a net of thin red scratch-marks and cuts. The closer he felt Voldemort's presence, the colder Harry was becoming. The harder his heart turned. His flagging sympathy for Malfoy, when he had failed to kill Dumbledore had gradually flowed into resentment, disrespect for having ruined such an important task, and then, all of a sudden, to grudge in its worst way. Harry was unnerved by these feeling at first, then ultimately frightened. He could not tell where he himself ended and Voldemort began.

Malfoy sought refuge and found it. Harry boiled with rage when those soft-hearted people, members of his Order – _his_ Order – offered a Malfoy protection. Malfoy lived in a hotel and none other than his eternal school enemy was assigned to protect him.

No matter how much Harry protested, no one would listen.

They fought. They screamed at each other. They hurled plates and various small pieces of furniture at each other.

Harry understood the reason perfectly well. He could explain why he always was the one to initiate the fight. He knew why Draco never resisted. It wasn't that hard, was it? After all, 'Malfoy' was a synonym for 'aristocratic reserve'.

They loved to see each other go mad. They couldn't stand the peace, the quiet, the boredom of a normal conversation. Each would throw punches and sharp insults at his adversary, and they would both enjoy the brutality of it all. They would scream until their throats were sore. They would run short of breath. Their muscles would ache. But if they truly wanted to hurt each other, they would go for their wands. And they never did.

_When am I gonna learn? Why? Cause I'm tired of hating. _

_When will it be your turn? Why? Cause I'm tired of waiting._

Harry chased him to the outskirts of the city and shrieked: "How the fuck dare you walk out on me? We haven't finished yet!"

His gaze slid over Malfoy, standing still by the water. His sleeve rolled up; Voldemort's Mark was exposed. He was letting the soft breeze blowing from the pond caress his pale skin. Harry seemed to know the feeling. The Mark hurt and scorched the skin around and underneath itself almost like his own lightning bolt-shaped scar.

He approached the boy and stood quietly beside him. Drained of emotions and strength, he just wanted to keep quiet while it was still possible. He felt too dependant on his quarrels with Malfoy… on Malfoy himself.

He patted Draco's shoulder lightly. "What is it?"

"Sick of it," a muffled response came. Harry arched his eyebrows. "Sick of you. Of your blasted Order. Of V-Vol… Well, you know."

"If that pleases you, I'll have you know that I can barely stand your company as well."

"Then we are both lucky," snorted Draco.

Behind them, birds chirped in the trees. A plump duck splashed clumsily through the water. Some kids threw crums of bread in its direction. The duck eyed the dainties cautiously, then dipped its rounded beak in the water and swallowed. It uttered a satisfactory quacking and headed towards the children, eager for more food.

A gaggle of teenage girls, perhaps a bit younger than Harry and Draco who were passing by, eyed up the boys. "And the blond one has a cool tattoo," Harry heard them giggle.

"How long am I to stay there?" Draco inquired, suddenly, breaking the silence that stretched between them; a yawning gulf of words unsaid. His voice made Harry shiver. He eyed his golden-haired nemesis hesitantly, then shrugged.

"I don't know. You can't leave anyway. You've nowhere to go. In fact, I'm not sure I–".

He mumbled the last words so quietly that he himself couldn't understand whether he had spoken them out loud. Malfoy cocked his head. The wind ruffled his hair, and a single sunbeam slid along his fringe and transformed it into a stream of liquid gold. The boy looked breathtakingly handsome.

"Come again, Potter," he demanded.

"I don't want you to go," Harry confessed. The situation was awkward and he had recently been plagued by strange feelings and emotions he was never accustomed to dealing with. He prayed something would happen to save him from burning and shrivelling into ashes in the flames of his own shame. Unexpectedly, Draco gave him a helping hand.

"No one else to fight with?" he asked in sympathetic mockery. Harry blushed and slapped him on the elbow.

"Exactly!"

_No I don't, no I don't, no I don't, _

_Well, no, I don't find faith in your forced feelings, _

_Not fooled by your misleadings, _

_Won't buy this line your selling, _

_Tired of this lie your telling. _

_I won't, I don't, no I won't do this anymore! _

Harry stood in the shower, minutes stretching endlessly in slow motion, and let the water wash away his fatigue. He shut his weary eyes with such force that painfully bright flares exploded before his sight.

Malfoy hadn't really been himself that day. Funny. He'd acted almost… pleasantly. They'd _almost_ worked out a civilized conversation. Harry could never understand whether Draco meant what he said or whether it was just another complex mannerism of his. Harry hated feeling helpless. But he just couldn't decipher the real Draco amidst all that teasing, acting and pretence. Maybe that was what it meant to be a Malfoy, to hide yourself beneath different miasmas of behaviour and to permanently confuse.

Harry's eyes were burning, stinging from the water's hot touch. He looked up, opened his mouth and took a deep breath. Water streamed down his face, boiled all around him, leaked through the splinters in the cubicle walls. Harry pressed his forehead to the heated plastic. His hair glistened, glued to his skull like damp film.

The door slid open. Cold air burst into the cubicle. Harry looked up. Malfoy's pale face appeared in puffs of smoke in the doorway.

"Do you mind?" Potter hissed and seized the door, hoping to shut it before even a glimpse of him could be caught.

Unfortunately, Malfoy thrust his leg forward quickly enough to prevent him from doing so. Water dripped down on his newly polished shoe. With a curved grimace of distaste, he ignored the fact and uttered casually, "Just got a message from your Order. It concerns my family. I hope you don't mind. I took it upon myself to read it. My mother's in France and all my bank accounts have been closed."

"I'm very sorry," said Harry impatiently. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Talk to your precious Order, of course! I want my money. You have connections in the Ministry, don't you?"

Harry shook his head, searching for the right words. Finally he drew out spitefully, "Fucking extortioner! Close the door, now!"

Draco examined him as if aware for the first time how embarrassing the situation must have been for Harry, and nodded.

"Fine. There's nothing to look at, anyway."

Before Harry could hit him, he pranced out of the bathroom, his laughter echoed in the hall. Potter punched the wall hard with his fist and spat:

"For a moment I thought I saw a human being inside you."

_She says I'm only tellin' half of it. _

_That's probably coz there's only half worth tellin'. _

_And every time I try to laugh it off _

_That's when you turn around and wind up yellin'. _

"Ginny, what are you doing here?" Harry asked wearily.

It had been a dreadful day. It had seemed inevitable that soon forces of the Order would clash with the Death Eaters. But no one had been keen enough to foresee the loss would be so unbearable. Many of those Harry barely knew fell. Many of those he'd known very well fell too. Too shocked to focus on business, too drained to think clearly, Harry lay on the bed in his recently rented apartment (he hated to endanger the Order and appeared in its headquarters at Grimmauld Place only if the matters pressed him to do so), staring blankly at the ceiling.

Nothing mattered.

Ginny sat down and intertwined her fingers with his own. He raised his hand, causing hers to follow, and marvelled how coarse and rough it was next to her delicate one. He planted a brief kiss on the hollow between her thumb and forefinger.

"I know we've agreed not to see each other more than it's necessary," she said quietly, "but I fear for you. You've grown so detached. I hardly recognize you now."

He sighed. How was it possible to explain why he became so unsociable; how could he tell her that the only place that made him feel like home was that wretched hotel room where every single thing exhaled the aura of the man he hated more with every breath he took? How could he comfort her, tell her that after the war was over he would be the same, swear that he still loved her with all his heart?

"Ginny, I… I don't know what to say."

In fact, he had nothing to say. He didn't want to talk. He cradled her in his arms, and they lay silently on the bed.

"It feels like you're hiding something from me," Ginny said. Her voice sounded dull and expressionless. Harry could only be lost in conjectures about her inner turmoil that she was so lucky to hide. Of the two of them, she was the stronger now.

"Nothing," he muttered stubbornly and clenched his teeth.

Ginny sat upright and remained still for a few minutes. Harry touched her shoulder lightly. She looked so fragile he was afraid she'd snap in two under his touch. A porcelain doll with her inherited flaming red hair, her beautiful watering eyes, her lips that always reminded him of rose petals… He kissed her temple and whispered that he loved her. And then, that she had to go. And then, that he loved her, again, and that he always would. She forced a smile and left.

_When am I gonna learn? Why? Cause I'm tired of hating. _

_When will it be your turn? Why? Cause I'm tired of waiting._

Darkness veiled the city. Every street-torch burnt out, and night swallowed the suburbs. All that could bring out hope was gone in the fog.

Harry entered the hotel room with a package of food from the local supermarket. It was dark, curtains down just as he had requested. An intensive smell of nicotine pervaded the air. Harry sneezed, unprepared.

Loud German music was playing nearby. Harry looked out of the window. It was beginning to rain. He scanned the street, then shut the window, relieved to have seen nothing suspicious.

"Malfoy."

No response came. Harry tried again. Music, now hushed a bit, mixed with the suffocating silence, creating an odd and eerie atmosphere. Harry noticed a flicker of light underneath the bathroom door.

"Malfoy! It's me, Potter. Let me in."

The music swelled louder. Harry stretched his neck to check if he had indeed closed the window. Its rough rhythm along with the harsh disturbing words in a language he didn't know penetrated within his mind. It buzzed inside his skull. Harry pulled the door-knob.

"Malfoy! Draco… I need to know if you're okay."

He stepped back as the door half-opened. Draco lounged in the cubicle, holding a bottle of ice-tea, dressed in soft cotton shirt and loose pants. Harry lowered his head and muttered, "Have you been smoking?"

"They have." For a moment he stared at Potter with that impassive gaze of his, making him flinch. "A couple of Voldemort's servants, lower rank, perhaps. What would my father say? The Dark Lord's become too desperate because of you, Potter. Filling his ranks with scum. And this guy in the next room…"

"What about him?" asked Harry, not quite sure if he could still catch up on the conversation.

Draco was neither drunk, nor drugged, to his knowledge. But the way he was talking… and suddenly it hit Harry: the boy was extremely scared, out of himself with abysmal fear that feasted upon his very gut and stole his breath.

"…killed himself," Draco went on. Harry blinked. "With a gun. Damn it, I heard the shot. And you know what… these Muggles… their little thundering sticks… It's the worst sound in the world. It tears the thin air apart. It hits your very brain on the rebound, it thunders in your ears. It makes you sick."

"Don't think about it," Harry whispered mindlessly.

He patted Draco's shoulder carefully. Malfoy gripped his wrist and guided his hand to his chest. Harry didn't resist. His palm touched the fabric of his shirt; the boy's heart was thumping – Potter felt it through the barrier of material and skin and ribs. It never occurred to him that a powerful wizard could be so frightened by a Muggle weapon. But Draco's expression was that of genuine fear. Evidently he'd rather face several Killing Curses cast by the most elite of the Dark Lord's minions that hear that sound again.

They continued in silence until Harry asked, "Who was here?"

"Some werewolves. Greyback's lackeys. Idiots; ferocious and carnivorous idiots with hens' brains." As always, Draco's appraisal was superior but accurate. Harry grinned at that.

"Your attitude's not getting us anywhere safe, you know," he chided in a soft voice.

_No I don't, no I don't, no I don't, _

_No, I don't find faith in your forced feelings, _

_Not fooled by your misleadings, _

_Won't buy this line your selling, _

_Tired of this lie your telling. _

_I won't, I don't, no, I won't do this anymore! _

Harry didn't know why he stayed for the night. When the pale morning glow lit the room, he woke up to find himself curled up on the couch under a warm blanket, his glasses placed on the nightstand under his very nose, making it easy for him to locate them. Harry hated waking up to obscurity, pitifully shortsighted as he was.

He saw Malfoy hunched over the table, scribbling some kind of a note. It took the best of Harry to get up noiselessly and approach him. He looked down over Malfoy's shoulder but he had no time to distinguish anything in the boy's neat calligraphic writing. Swift as a flying arrow, Malfoy squared his shoulders and whirled on him.

"What is that?" Harry inquired in a steady Auror's tone.

"Nothing that would be of your concern," was Malfoy's reply. He crumpled the sheet of paper and shoved it into his pocket, then smiled welcomingly as if daring Harry to try and extract it from there.

Potter gulped nervously. Then turned away. Behind him, Draco snorted. Did he ever understand what power he had upon his forced protector? Once again, Harry loathed him for it – as much as he resented himself at the moment. He hated the other so passionately that he considered bringing a gun and firing it in the air in front of Malfoy, if not shooting him.

Suddenly He span around and pinned Malfoy to the floor. The blond glared at him, wide-eyed with amusement, making Potter even more resolute. He thrust his hand into the pocket of Malfoy's pants and stroked his hip unwittingly in search for the accursed paper. Draco licked his lips, then put his mouth to Harry's ear and whispered, "Look thoroughly, or you'll miss something important."

Shudders ran through Potter's body. It took a lot of reserve to ignore the taunt. He bit his lip and continued searching. Something soft enveloped his fingers. He took it out, a silken handkerchief, and threw it on the coach. Draco laughed huskily. His breath tickled Harry's skin. Despite himself, the boy ended up blushing violently.

Malfoy arched his back, trying to shift underneath Harry, and pretended to be upset at the failed attempt.

"Don't move!" snarled Potter and punched him in the ribcage. Draco whimpered and laughed hoarsely again, unable to restrain himself. "Are you really enjoying yourself?"

"Hell, yes! One look at your face–. Ouch!"

Harry leaned heavily on his victim and moved his hand faster. His cheeks flushed. He lowered his face to Malfoy's one, half sensing their breath mix, their pulse quicken. Draco raised his upper body as much as he could possibly do with Harry lying atop him and turned his hips a bit.

Harry stiffened, concentrating on the outrageous depth of the pocket instead of some alluring hardness he was feeling against his hand.

"Why are you so tense?" Malfoy wondered in a mockingly innocent tone.

At last a scrap of paper revealed itself to Harry. He sat upright, his back painfully rigid. He mastered his breath and examined the white field of the note with interest.

_1 French loaf of bread_

_1 blood pudding_

_half a cheese_

_1 bottle of mineral water_

_2 packets of apple juice…_

Harry paused, uncertain.

"What's that?"

"What does it look like?"

"A grocery list!" Indignant, Harry leapt away from the youth and eyed him spitefully. In a smooth, liquid motion, Malfoy was back on his feet in an instant. "All that – because of a simple grocery list!? I can't believe it."

"I was bored," Malfoy shrugged.

His playful mood, however, was contagious. Potter jumped him, putting all his exasperation into a series of hard blows. They rolled on the floor, overthrowing each other in turns, gaining and losing control in a blink of an eye. His breath shaky, Harry collapsed on top of Malfoy and was aware of the double entendre of their position. Draco's knee was squeezed between his thighs. His hand clutched the fabric of the t-shirt on Harry's shoulder; the other rested on the small of his back, threatening to slide even lower.

"Stop that, please," Potter demanded at once.

Malfoy's lips curved into a teasing smirk. "Stop what?"

"Release me!"

Once the grip on his limbs loosened, Harry rose and almost hardly rushed to the door, muttering under his breath, "You're a sick fuck, you know that?"

"_Tsk, tsk_, language, Mr Potter," Draco responded in Professor Snape's taunting classroom manner.

_She says I'm only tellin' half of it. _

_That's probably coz there's only half worth tellin'. _

_And every time I try to laugh it off, _

_That's when you turn around and wind up yellin'._

It was never that hard before. Harry feared that constant battles had turned him into an immature emotional cripple for he found it hard now to make himself feel something for just about anyone. Hours passed by, turning into days, blending into nights. The skies remained starless and blurry. Taking off his glasses, Harry seated himself into a big armchair in Grimmauld Place's living room and stared blindly at the walls.

"We've been delayed," Hermione said. Her disembodied voice woke him up and forced to look up at her. "I've checked all the notes; apparently we're on the right track. We can go after the Horcruxes now."

Harry nodded, dazed. To finally lay his hands at least on one piece of Voldemort's wretched soul would be… He struggled to find the word. Nothing seemed to fit. Ron's hand on his shoulder snapped him back to reality.

"You all right, mate?"

Harry nodded, his expression grave and aloof. Apparently, Ron knew nothing of his little tiff with Ginny, and he intended to keep it that way. Playing the hard part of an overprotective older brother, Ron occasionally got carried away.

"Guys, could you–?" Harry tousled his raven hair nervously. "Could you give me some privacy?"

When they left, puzzled by his odd behaviour, he half-lay in the arm-chair, clutching his wand, just thinking and asking himself,

_When am I gonna learn? Why? Cause I'm tired of hating. _

_When will it be your turn? Why? Cause I'm tired of waiting._

Probably never…


	2. Live And Let Die

**Title**: "Cui Prodest"

**Author**: Shaitanah

**Rating**: R

**Timeline**: post-HBP

**Summary**: When Draco seeks refuge in the Order, Harry is assigned to protect him. Big mistake, that is. + But when Malfoy insists he should move in with Harry, it gets even worse.

**Pairings**: Harry/Draco, minor Harry/Ginny, minor Ron/Hermione (in various chapters), etc.

**Disclaimer**: _'Harry Potter'_ belongs to JKR. And I have nothing else to do but play with her characters. Yeah, right!

**Special thanks**: to my beta Lady Domino.

**A/N**: The song that Draco hears is 'Vindicated' by _Dashboard Confessional_. Apparently he could never have heard ot because it was written much later, but this is fiction, okay?)))

**A/N2**: Some readers expressed concerns about the Harry/Ginny pairing in the first chapter. I thought I'd clear the situation a bit: the main pairing here is HARRY/DRACO so you might stop worrying: there won't be any more H/G here. Almost. Those other pairings like H/G, R/Hr or whatever else might pop up into my head only appear for a few minutes in different parts of the story. They create the atmosphere and show that the story tries to follow the canon. That's all. No worries here, I dislike Ginny myself. :-D Thank you to those who reviewed! I love you, guys!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**_Live And Let Die_**

_I am colorblind._

_Coffee black and egg white._

_Pull me out from inside._

_I am ready, I am ready, I am ready, _

_I am fine._

Counting Crows. _'Colorblind'

* * *

_

The sun cloaked the blurry silhouettes of the pyramids in a sheer haze the color of lemon drops. Dust smoked in the air over the sandy orange hillocks. A solitary sound drifted through the desert, monotonous and beautiful; the eerie singing which trickled from the high minarets of the nearest mosque.

The people who dwelt here were mostly simple folks with their roots deep in the soil; so deep, in fact, that, even if they should have had the inclination, it seemed impossible that they could ever rise from the fertile Nile mud which birthed them. In this century of pretense and open hostility they were genuine: kind, hard-working, illiterate and unaffected. They repaid good with some naïve devotion. For violence, likewise, retribution came swiftly.

Egypt. Once the richest nest of cunning spellweavers, masters of the rarest incantations; now just another dried up land that thrived exclusively on tourism.

Draco yearned to go there. Egypt haunted his dreams, boiled in his blood. He received no magical books or newspapers from his merciless supervisor but the magnificent deserts, rich oasis and imposing pyramids took his breath away even on the still pages of ordinary books. He knew that one day he'd relinquish everything that kept him in Britain and visit this country.

It was raining heavily outside. Draco lay under the blanket, a small flashlight in his hand, and looked through another tourists' magazine. Overjoyed travelers beamed at him, their glossy faces bearing the mark of some supernatural freedom that Draco had always envied.

Malfoy objected heavily to staying in this hotel after what had happened next door. According to Potter, it was too dangerous to move now, with the streets swarming with Voldemort's agents. Besides, two of them had already come here to make sure Draco was gone. They'd never look in the same place twice. Oddly enough, the 'speccy git' had a point. The refugee agreed to stay.

Almost a week had passed since Potter's last visit. Supplies were running out. Draco didn't dare tempt fate by going outside alone. Throughout this week he had had enough time to ponder the situation. He was alone, at the mercy of his enemies; he had no money, no family, he didn't trust anyone, and he was hunted. It reminded him of misfortunes that had befallen people trapped in cities under siege during the war. His situation wasn't that grave so far. Luckily, he could deal without thriving on rats and potato peel.

To his own great astonishment, he realized that he missed Potter. Of course, the bastard always provoked him into meaningless fighting and bickering but at least he was another human face beside Draco's own mirror image.

Lupin had offered him a deal, of a sort. The Order requested some names of him. Draco refused to talk. Not that he didn't want to receive proper magical shelter (preferably under Fidelius) or at least settle down in Grimmauld Place itself, but the thought of betraying even more people (most of them friends of his family, distant relatives, or parents of his former classmates) sickened him inexplicably.

So he was left waiting in the same hotel, gradually going mad due to the infuriating solitude. When it appeared he could take no more, Potter would come, make his life a little less miserable and vanish again. Draco had quickly noticed how seriously his visits affected Potter himself. It was another source amusement for the lonesome Malfoy.

But a week had passed, and no word came from Potter. Engrossed in studying those tourists' prospects, Draco barely noticed the flow of time, but it hung heavy on his mind, and finally he began to worry: what if something happened to him? What if Voldemort had already shattered this one link Draco had to the outside world?

By the end of the week, Malfoy was ready to wail in frustration. Boredom and loneliness nagged at him mercilessly, and lent him a boldness he did not have before. Under the shroud of night, he slipped away from the hotel and walked a few blocks, enjoying the chill and fresh air on his face. Every once in a while pale flashes of car lights washed over him and he would wince and seek shelter in the shadows of the alleys. His walk ended by a park gateway where a huge spotted owl dozed, its head enfolded in a collar of fluffy feathers.

Draco whistled quietly. The bird stared at him with its perfectly round yellowish saucers of eyes. The youth handed it an envelope.

"Go now, quickly," he said in a low voice. To his dismay, the ugly pit in his stomach did not leave with the bird.

* * *

The door creaked. Draco jumped and rushed to the hallway, forgetting all precautions. Accusations were ready flow off his tongue when he noticed the visitor wasn't exactly the Boy Who Forgot To Bring Him Food. A plump girl of about fourteen glared at him with wide-open eyes.

"Draco," the girl spoke and her shape began to change. She grew taller, her hair turned fair and fell in soft waves upon her declivous shoulders. Her slim figure was garbed in the finest Parisian silk.

"Mother!" Draco breathed. Not a second had passed before she flung herself into his arms and buried her face on his shoulder.

He pulled away and eyed her inquiringly. "What's wrong? Why aren't you in France?"

"I couldn't stay there; it's too dangerous now," Narcissa replied rapidly. "His spies are everywhere. I'm leaving for Prague one of these days. Come with me."

His heart went under. He always considered running as the very last option. His mother's eyes drilled him impatiently. Draco didn't dare look away.

"I can't," he said breaking the silence. "I have some unfinished business here."

"But he will kill you! He will not be at peace until he exterminates every last one of his enemies. We are already on the list!"

Her desolation frightened him. What began as an errand of great honour turned out to be the greatest of curses. Malfoy compressed his mother's warm fingers in his hands and softly brushed her knuckles with his lips.

"I know. I wish you well, Mother."

Tears glistened in her eyes. But Narcissa braced herself and touched the boy's cheek lovingly, then turned back into the insignificant teenager.

"There is something else you need to know," she said before departing. "Your father is gone."

Draco's head shot upwards. Narcissa gripped his hand firmly, placed a heavy ring on his right forefinger and whispered ardently:

"You are now officially the patriarch of the family. Remember that, Draco."

She disappeared, leaving him brimming with hurt and dizzying rage. The ring belonged to his father, an ancient black-on-green gemstone in silver framing, the family motto engraved on its inner side.

It passed to him now. His sole inheritance. As well as pride, dignity and lust for vengeance.

Terror bottled up inside him and burst out in the end, flooding every cell of his body.

"Bloody coward!" he roared in a passion of self loathing, smashing the remnants of his late supper into a mess. Pieces of cardboard, plastic, chunks of bread, tissues fell on the floor.

Shaking violently, Malfoy paced about the room. He had to get away from here. Alone, powerless, stuck in an unimaginable state of poverty and desperation, he felt useless and lost. A gun fired in the next room. Draco flinched. No, just a hallucination. He could do _nothing_ about it. He tore the ring off his finger and hurled it at the wall. With a hushed jingle, it dropped underneath the table. He was unworthy of the title, of the surname, of his appearance that betrayed a Malfoy to the bone in him.

Draco tossed his petty possessions into his bag and cogitated feverishly where to go. Sickness submerged him. He overthrew the table and dug his fingers into the dust. Swallowing back tears, he fished the ring out of dirt and shoved it into his pocket.

* * *

Summer wind remained warm and sweet in his memory. It was nothing but chill now, that pitiless chill of late night that struck killing blows to the homeless and the sick. Pulling his bag after him, Draco plodded indifferently without direction. Over and over again, his mind refused to believe his mother's words. _It was a cruel joke, nothing more._ Over and over again, the wind sobered him and he knew his father was well and truly dead. And there was _nothing_, _Nothing_ he could change about it.

Oblivious to the world around him, Draco tripped and fell, and remained still on the ground. The asphalt under him begain to soak. Draco groaned quietly. He was sure he hadn't hurt himself, but he couldn't bring himself to get up. Rolling his head he ran his eyes over the indifferent heavens. No stars. He wondered where all the stars had gone. Back in Malfoy Manor he had always had the pleasure of contemplating the clear night sky strewn with stars like diamonds.

He clambered back to his feet and strode forward, quivering.

Potter. _Potter_! Saint bloody Potter was responsible for everything! According to Draco's sources, his flat was located somewhere around here. Draco gritted his teeth and walked faster, still feeling a bit dizzy from his fall. He would demand every single answer with Potter and if the precious Golden Boy refused to speak… well, so much the worse for him.

There it was.

Draco examined the place with disgust. What a plebian hole! He banged on the door, allowing his fear and rampaging fury to cloud his mind, then stood stock-still, waiting for any reaction. Peace reigned in the hall, perturbed by his outburst for but a second. The neighbours seemed to have missed the noise.

Potter opened the door after a few minutes. His sleepy eyes gleamed with something next to shock as Draco burst in and crashed on the couch, got up instantly, walked about the room in broad circles, sat down again and repeated the whole procedure at least five times all in all.

"What is it?" Harry blurted out at last. "You were not supposed to–."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Malfoy snarled. "Who the hell gave you the right to keep me in the dark? Answer me, dammit!"

"Didn't tell you what!?" Harry asked icily.

"About my father!" Draco was on the verge of tears. He looked away, trying to calm down. His hands balled into fists. He took a deep breath and uttered in a more controlled tone, "You should have told me. Is that why you were avoiding me for a week?"

"I'm so sorry, Draco."

The blond grimaced sourly at the sound of his first name coming from _those_ lips. The fall made itself known once again, in a dim ache which spread through the points of him that had hit the ground. Sickened, he shut his eyes, struggling to stand erect, and shouted:

"One bloody week!"

Potter mumbled something to clear himself but in his current situation Malfoy could hardly grasp the meaning of his words. When he opened his eyes, the room swayed before him and he ended up on the floor, a lump in his throat and throat and Potter's concerned face preventing him from seeing anything else. Those green eyes consumed everything. For the first time in all these years he'd known Potter, Draco gave full attention to the colour of his eyes.

'They're green,' he thought distantly. 'And quite striking for that matter. Even though they're hidden behind his awful ridiculous glasses.'

And then he passed out and was, in fact, quite happy about it because for once reality was so ruthlessly painful that he couldn't stand it anymore.

* * *

Draco's mind was playing foul tricks on him. The sense of smell returned first. Darkness expired into breaths of mint, spirits and fruit. Hearing restored itself a few seconds later. Quiet music was playing.

…_let me slip away, so let me slip away,_

_let me slip away, let me slip away _

_Against the current,_

_Let me slip away…_

And over the radio static a persistent voice was calling his name. Draco heard it as if he had fallen through the ice.

Vision came back last. He opened his steel-grey eyes and surveyed Potter with a touch of hostility.

"What the deuce has happened?"

"You tell me," Potter asserted. "You had blood all over your head. I treated the wound the best I could not being a medical attendant. It was a nasty one, indeed. Funny that you haven't noticed."

"Well," Draco muttered. "I have not. I fell, must have concussed myself or something. Leave it be."

He sat up carefully and was glad not to have a headrush. Everything seemed perfectly normal. He spotted his bag by the couch and announced expressionlessly, "Guess what? I'm staying here."

Potter was gulping tea at the moment and choked on it. "Beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. I'm not going back to that wretched place, no! So it's either here, or Grimmauld Place."

"You know you're not allowed there."

Draco shrugged. "Exactly."

* * *

Potter's small flat could be included in the Pureblood wizards' guide to the most apallingly poor and distasteful Muggle places ever, had such existed. Stuffed with boxes, trash and other evidence of moving in not so long ago, it had hardly enough space for one person to live in, not to mention two. Draco's lip curled unpleasantly when he realized what exactly he'd gotten himself into. But all in all, anything was better than the hotel.

Draco's bedroom was quickly transformed into a bedroom from something Potter had been using as a warehouse. The bed was relatively small, the window faced a dull brick wall. The view from Potter's room was no better, with only a bare yard and a highway to be seen.

Living with Potter was no good either. The idiot never washed his dishes, leaving piles of dirty plates in the sink for Draco to bear with and for cockroaches to feast on. Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration. Still, dust swathed every surface, particles of it floating in the air around and tickling Draco's nose. Had Draco not been so lazy or predetermined to hire servants for doing dirty work, he would have attempted to clean the place himself, since it was painfully obvious that Potter was not even going to try.

However, there were some pleasant additions to this dreary picture – such as a huge square box with a flashy window that Potter referred to as 'telly'. Once Draco learnt how to use it, he became positively glued to the screen and watched anything so long as it was moving, and talking, and changing colors ten times better than photographs in wizarding magazines. Soon he came across a 'National Geographic' programme that captured his heart by taking him finally to Egypt. He piled blankets on the floor and rested within a few inches from the screen as if hoping that somehow Saqqara's burning winds would dive out of it and whirl him away. It was only when Potter mentioned that eye-sight could suffer greatly because of that (_'Be careful unless you want to wear glasses like I do.'_) that Draco moved back to the couch.

Several days passed in that fashion. Potter was absent most of the time. He came home late at night, stuffed Draco with Muggle junk food because he had no time to cook properly and fell asleep within a few minutes after having crashed on the bed. Insomniac and incredibly tired, Draco envied him greatly.

The night came when finally his eye-lids felt heavy enough and dropped closed as soon as his head hit the pillow. Drifting off to dream, Draco half-smiled. But it wasn't meant to be. He woke up to quiet moaning that echoed through the entire room. At first, he could not detect the source of those muffled sounds. Outside? The window was half-open. Someone in the next appartment? 'Merlin! These damn walls are so thin.' Then it hit him: Potter's bedroom! Malfoy tucked his head under the pillow and grumbled, "Do I get some sleep tonight, or what?"

Clearly Potter was enjoying himself. Draco chuckled, amused, pulled himself out of the bed and tiptoed to the hall. He pressed his ear to the door – right. It would be both wise and polite to leave immediately and not pursue the matter. Much to Draco's dismay, the sounds became even louder. The blond allowed himself another wry grimace.

"I should probably let him finish," he said quietly to himself. "On the other hand, should I, really?"

He made a sleepy face to enhance the effect and knocked on the door. A loud _thud_ followed (Potter must have fell off the bed!), then swearing and the rustling of paper and, finally, Harry's irritated voice, "Yes!"

Fighting back laughter, Malfoy banged the door open imposingly.

"At least cast the Silencing Charm next time, will you?" he remarked and disappeared back into the corridor.

A few minutes later (beside himself with anger, Potter was reacting incredibly slowly) footsteps were heard. The youth stormed into the kitchen where Malfoy was casually sipping juice and barked:

"Never do that again! What I do in my own bedroom is none of your concern!"

"Not if it has such a heavy soundtrack that it reverberates through the entire flat," Malfoy replied dryly.

The walls around him shook and swapped places for a moment as Potter slapped him in the face with all his might. Draco simply stared at him. The brat looked undeniably beautiful this way: breathless in fury, with nothing but his underwear on. His nostrils flared. His forever-untidy black hair, dishevelled, never to be tamed by a comb, for once did not look ridiculous.

Potter stirred uncomfortably.

"What!?"

Malfoy looked away and smiled. "No one told you it'd be easy for us to live together, Potter. It's _us_."

"The hell it is. It is _me_ and _you_, an unimaginable nuisance that I have to look after for no apparent reason!"

"Why are you so angry? Because I interrupted something important? Well, go back to your bloody jerking off, I'm very sorry!"

Harry gasped in indignation and uttered in a constrained voice, "I was not–." Ignoring him Draco stormed out and dived into his own room.

The door slammed shut behind Draco. His mind went blissfully numb with exhaustion and soon he was fast asleep.


	3. Just A Good Actor

**Title**: "Cui Prodest"

**Author**: Shaitanah

**Rating**: R

**Timeline**: post-HBP

**Summary**: When Draco seeks refuge in the Order, Harry is assigned to protect him. Big mistake, that is. + The more dangerous the game is, the better they like it.

**Pairings**: Harry/Draco, minor Harry/Ginny, minor Ron/Hermione (in various chapters), etc.

**Disclaimer**: _'Harry Potter'_ belongs to JKR. Unfortunately. We all know that, don't we?

**Special thanks**: to my beta Lady Domino; I don't know how you find time for this, darling, but I'm so glad you do!

**A/N**: Thank you so much for your reviews! They keep me writing! About the 'eyes of the water' spell: I'm not really good at Rowling's spells cuz I prefer non-verbal and wandless kind of magic (like when the guy comes in, waves his hand, and all his enemies sort of go up in flames!) but her spells are all in Latin so I gathered my poor knowledge of Latin, too. That's where it came from.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**_Just A Good Actor_**

_Arguments out of a pretty mouth are unanswerable._

_Joseph Addison.

* * *

_

"He… what?" Ron gaped at Harry, breathless.

Hermione pursed her lips in a way which made her look gloomy and comparatively intimidating.

"I know, it sounds stupid, but he says he won't go anywhere else." Harry nodded as if in confirmation of the words that were not his own.

"Well, screw what he says!" Ron blurted out. Hermione cast him a look of reproach. He smiled and shrugged carelessly. "Anyway, it's your flat, isn't it? You don't have to keep him there. I still don't understand why that bastard is so important to us."

"Because your father and Professor Lupin believe he might know something important," Hermione reminded.

"Yeah, and never divulge it! Get rid of him, Harry!"

In the meantime, Harry's thoughts drifted back to Malfoy. Yesterday he had insisted on conducting a small cleaning. He even forgot for a moment that he was an aristocrat. After that Harry's apartment had looked undeniably better. Well, of course, it didn't cover the damage Draco inflicted every day by his insults, mockery and the electricity expenses which arose from his newly discovered love for television. But at least now Harry had someone to talk to. Accustomed to loud companies at the Burrow, the entire Weasley family to spend his time with, he felt forlorn and forgotten in his small flat.

"I guess I'll let him stay," he murmured. "Besides, you know, guys… he's lived there for almost a week already. I'll try to make him talk."

"Big mistake, mate," Ron sighed.

On his way home, Harry pondered his friends' words. It was dangerous to engage in any sort of relationship with Malfoy, true, but Draco had been acting rather civil this past week. Harry just couldn't throw him out.

Yet another reason existed. Harry walked in circles, not knowing how to tell Draco the truth about Lucius Malfoy's death. The heir seemed distraught enough. Harry wondered who told him about what had happened, as well as _how much_. Apparently, the true circumstances still remained unknown to him.

Deep in thought, Harry approached his block of flats and was quite surprised to discover Malfoy sitting on the porch with a sketchbook in his hands.

"What are you doing?" Harry exclaimed. "You're not supposed to go out! What if you're accidentally seen?"

"Another day in that dusty closet of yours will do me in! I'm going shopping with you. You forgot your list."

Harry took the scrap of paper Malfoy was giving him and stuffed it into his pocket. Unbearable!

"Have you ever heard the word 'no', Draco?" he muttered. "It's not so difficult to memorize it. Just two letters: n-o!"

"N-o, Potter, I haven't heard it!" Malfoy mimicked him.

They walked rapidly, undisguised and dangerously visible to the entire world. Harry cursed himself for having forgotten to take his Invisibility cloak or at least alter Draco's appearance somehow. The supermarket was located 10 minutes away from the house. They could be seen a thousand times during their walk.

"If you give me some ingredients, I can brew Polyjuice for us next time," Draco sneered.

"There will be no next time," Harry cut off.

Shelves piled with cans and jars spread far and wide in the brightly lit hall of the supermarket. Fresh vegetables gleamed with vibrant colors. Solid chemical aroma clogged the air in the household department.

Standing on the footboard of the trolley, Malfoy went a roundabout way and nearly bumped into an old lady who immediately indulged into a long monologue dealing with 'how rude and disappointing this generation is'. To Harry's astonishment, Malfoy apologized, helped the lady to the cashier's and rode on to explore the wonders of the regular Muggle shop. He kept bombarding Harry with questions ('What's this for? How does that work?') and a satisfied grin wouldn't vanish from his flushed face.

"Seriously, one might think it's your first time in a supermarket," Harry chuckled and received a serious response: "It is."

The trolley was already filled with useless stuff like candles, sixteen bottles of drinking yogurt and plastic trinkets for keys when Harry came across the toy department. It was rather small and consisted mostly of plush toys of various sizes and prices. Harry stroked a bear's curly head gently. The fabric was soft and very pleasant to touch. Most of those toys could find better use as pillows rather than objects for children's' energetic sadism.

"Lapsing into childhood, Potter?" Malfoy teased.

"Sod off. It's for Ginny. I want to make up for my behaviour."

Malfoy tossed him a huge dark-green octopus. Wire in its tentacles made them flexible and allowed them to take any form possible.

"Take this one."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Very funny," he snickered and threw the toy back onto the shelf.

"You're right, it'd better be saved for Won-Won."

Surprisingly, choosing the present took Harry twice as long as they had spent in the shop already. In the next forty-five minutes he learnt that he was absolutely no good at picking toys for a girl. Malfoy once again proved to be a useful adviser.

A chubby white two-legged kitten with a glittering pink ribbon for a collar was rather good, to Harry's liking. Malfoy choked with laughter at the sight of it and almost fell of the cart where at the time he had already been sitting.

"Weaslette doesn't look like a lover of pink! If you give her that," he pressed the cat's stomach and a saccharine voice pronounced: 'I wuv you!' – "she will probably hex you into a toad. Find something more simple, something cute that a girl would like but not something from a deranged fairytale land. Something like this."

He pointed at a fluffy beige bear-cub with black eyes. Harry cocked his head, doubtful.

"I don't know… It reminds me of Snape."

Another burst of laughter followed. This time Draco was really close to falling off the trolley. Harry joined him against his will, infected with joy, and together they took the bear to the cash-desk.

On the way back it rained. The boys found shelter under a canopy in the market and silently counted drops falling to the asphalt. Under the summer rain their worries melted and slipped away. Summer in the city was always different.

From the corner of his eye, Harry noticed an unpleasant face. Unctuous pig-like eyes were watching the pair carefully. He nudged Malfoy and turned his attention back to the man. Unfortunately, he was not alone. Within a few metres Harry spotted two more.

"Werewolves," Draco whispered in his ear. "The same that were in the hotel."

His fingers wrapped around Harry's forearm. Malfoy froze, focused and tense like a deer on guard, ready to run if necessary. Harry still hoped to get away unnoticed but the moment the werewolf's sharp eyes fixed firmly on him, he realized there was no other way.

They ran so fast that a dull ache soon caught in their sides. Panting, Harry looked back occasionally to see if the wolves were still on their tail. The boys kept closer to the crowd; the werewolves wouldn't risk attacking among Muggles. It went on raining. They jumped over the puddles, glided on the slippery side-walks and dived into the narrow alleys only to find out that their pursuers had already apparated and lay in ambush.

At last the boys found shelter in a thick grove that grew a few blocks away from their apartment.

"Did we lose them?" Harry asked breathlessly.

Water dripped down from the branches above their heads. Something rattled loudly. Harry jumped nervously; fortunately, it was no more than a bough that broke under Malfoy's boot. Harry snorted irritably.

"We can't go home now," he sighed. "They might be tracking us."

Draco flashed him a sardonic look as if asking, 'Are you always that good at stating the obvious?' The grove went quiet. The boys tried not to move without a reason. Their limbs went numb, water penetrated the soles of their shoes, trickles sliding coldly through their hair. Raindrops glistened on wet leaves.

Draco slid carefully past a massive tree trunk and bent over a small puddle. He beckoned Harry to come up wordlessly.

'_Oculi aquae_,' he mouthed.

The water darkened, became rippling. Shady silhouettes reflected in its depths. Soon they acquired the recognizable features of the three werewolves that had been chasing them. Harry knitted his eye-brows: he did not know this spell. Neither did he know that Malfoy could use wandless magic so easily.

Draco licked his lips thoughtfully.

"That's the crossroad we've passed, isn't it? Looks like they're close."

Harry caught his breath and focused all attention on the puddle. Malfoy had no right to look so striking. That one thing about him was totally illegal. His hair a damp mess, mud on his plain Muggle jacket, yet in the absence of expensive jewelry and cologne, he could still take breath away with enviable ease. Harry stared at the water so intently he would sooner or later burn a hole in its surface.

He realized that Draco had actually been talking all that time. He cast him a wry glance and fixed his gaze upon the blond's lips.

Draco coughed.

"Uhm… You were saying?" Harry blinked.

"You haven't been listening, have you?" Malfoy reproached. "Never mind."

"Okay, whatever you say," Harry shrugged, grateful for a chance to look away.

It didn't feel right to think about Malfoy in such way. That morbid desire to reach out to Malfoy and take his shirt off, to feel his bare skin against Harry's own overheated flesh, to explore every inch of such an ideal body with his tongue, to wipe arrogance off that handsome face – that desire didn't seem right at all.

It dawned upon Harry that he had already touched Malfoy so many times in the past. They wrestled, they punched each other, they jostled. Malfoy's breath on his skin when he was looking for that ill-starred grocery list. Malfoy's body reacting to his weight in the most unforeseen way. Was that indeed for him?

Harry blushed. Of course not! Damn, he wished Sirius was here. Up to his fifth year, he could ask Sirius about anything and everything and get a straightforward answer. Lupin was next thing to a father figure in Harry's personal universe but he was usually doing something much more important than discussing the effect of hormones on a messed up kid's psyche.

Malfoy nudged him on the elbow.

"They are leaving. They've been moving down the street for the past fifteen minutes. Here is our chance."

They crept out of the grove and slunk cautiously towards their block of flats. At home, they put out all the lights, drew the curtains and behaved as quietly as possible. Harry sorted out the purchases and was relieved to see Ginny's present was intact. The bear's fur had turned from beige to brown and stuck together in places. Dry blowing should solve the problem.

Hedwig hooted cheerfully at the sight of Harry. The youth ruffled her feathers gently. The door slammed behind his back; in a few minutes splashes were heard. Malfoy occupied the bathroom. Harry arched his eye-brows, wondering if he should also walk in on him. Hedwig stared at him with her big saucer-like eyes.

"No?" Harry asked innocently. "You don't think I should? Oh, alright, let's be polite until he does something to really piss me off."

* * *

It was already very late. Harry yawned and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, ready to run through the papers again, he was not quite himself.

A cold voice was calling his name. He stared dreamily into the void that lay before him. Then he walked, staggering, towards a tall, cloaked figure and bowed. A pale hand emerged from the darkness beneath the sleeve and waved at him. He straightened himself mechanically.

_-All pain of the world, do you understand, my precious?-_ a raspy voice asked. It took Harry a few seconds to recognize Parseltongue. But then, the man speaking was…

A giant snake uncoiled lazily before him. It regarded Harry solemnly and hissed in unison with the Dark Lord: _-All pain of the world, Master!-_

Voldemort stepped into the blackness of the void; he didn't descend but strolled forward as if treading on a soft mattress. Harry trailed after him, blank and a bit dizzy. They halted by a limp body, sprawled in a pool of blood. There was so much blood that Harry wondered briefly if it all came from one man.

"I truly am sorry, my loyal servant," Voldemort said briskly. The hood of his robes fell away. Fierce crimson eyes pierced Harry. "You have failed me. What destiny, in your opinion, should befall you now?"

Harry looked down at the dead body and recognized that pale golden hair, that noble, handsome face.

"Death, my lord," he replied stoically. "The most painful death for having failed you."

Voldemort smiled. "And if I offer you a chance to fix everything?"

"I'm willing to take it," Harry breathed. Strange jubilation filled him to the brim. "Please, give me a chance to redeem myself. I'll do anything!"

_-He meanssss it,-_ the snake observed. _–He'ssss sssuch a ssscared little human. He'll do whatever you ssssay.-_

Darkness enveloped the body on the floor and devoured it. Harry couldn't stop shivering.

"I want Harry Potter," Voldemort said. "Harry Potter!"

The void was spinning. Harry felt sick. The air around him shimmered and exploded with a choir calling his name, "Potter! Potter! Potter!"

"Potter, damn it, wake up!!!"

Harry gasped. His heart thundered in his chest. He looked at Malfoy, who was gripping his shoulders, shaking him lightly.

"Good," the blond said breathlessly. "Now you're back."

"Back from where?"

"You tell me. You were muttering something in Parseltongue, moaning and nearly performing somersaults on the bed."

"Didn't know you cared," Harry said, not bothering to conceal his enmity. The person in his dream could only have been one person, and this person was sitting right next to him.

Draco got up and folded his arms over his chest. His eyes blazed silvery as he mimicked Harry's hostile tone:

"I don't. I'm just sick of you not letting me sleep."

With a sting of remorse Harry crawled out of bed and caught up with Malfoy just before the blond could shut the door in front of him. Dark shades encircled Malfoy's eyes. But even exhausted as he was, he looked nearly flawless.

Harry put his hand on Malfoy's forearm gently.

"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to snarl like that. Just had a stupid dream."

"I don't care," Draco shrugged.

Harry smiled. "Oh yes, you do. Otherwise you would have nicked my wand while I was asleep and cast a Silencing Charm over my room."

"Gee, thanks for the idea!"

Harry was glad to see that Malfoy was now smiling. He had yet to ponder the meaning of the dream but he didn't want to give it much attention now. Somehow without agreement they crawled onto Malfoy's bed and lay there together. Harry turned the radio on, breaking the stillness of the flat that had been building up since their return that afternoon. Surprisingly, both of them ended up humming quietly to the tune.

"You can't sing," Malfoy said when another song began.

"Neither can you," Harry grinned.

There was some strange peace in lying like that, singing, muttering silly comments once in a while. The conversation flagged but Harry had little need for words now. The warmth of Malfoy's body next to his, soft music and the feeling of unexpected safety finally lulled him.

* * *

Harry tucked his head under the pillow, not wishing to wake up. It felt so warm and fuzzy under the blanket. He grunted softly and searched for his watch. It wasn't on the nightstand. Weird.

Come to think of it, it wasn't _his_ nightstand at all. He jumped up (sent the pillow flying into the wall) and realized with a start that it was not only somebody else's nightstand, but also somebody else's bed in somebody else's room. Panic-stricken, Harry sank back on the bed. Malfoy…

The memory came back, relieving his stress. He recalled his nightmare and their minor exchange of words before he fell asleep. Harry scratched the back of his head quizzically: he was sure he had gone back to his bedroom to sleep. It felt awkward and odd to fall asleep beside Malfoy. He wondered if Malfoy had felt the same.

Harry found him in the kitchen, a letter in his hands, his face a few shades paler than usual. The blond noticed Potter and put the paper away.

"What's that?" Harry asked, frowning.

"It's personal."

"Another grocery list? Give it to me."

Draco stepped back, showing severe resolution. Hands in his pockets, he looked at Harry but not challenging him like the last time. Something else gleamed in his eyes: caution, determination, desolation.

Harry neared him, gripped his wrists tightly and asked again to give him the letter. Draco shook his head stubbornly.

"I'm warning you…" he said quietly. "If you touch that letter –."

Harry brushed Malfoy's hand with his fingers. Malfoy recoiled and bumped into the wall. Harry pressed their bodies together, slid his hand into Malfoy's pocket, smiling at the _déjà vu_. To his amazement, Draco didn't resist short of whispering in a muffled voice, "Don't do that, please. I'm warning you."

Harry looked up, their lips almost touched. The stern look on Malfoy's face told him that the youth was ready to defend that ill-fated letter with all his strength.

"Give it to me," Harry breathed.

"Give you what?"

'He's playing with me,' Harry realized. He had to confess he liked the game; he wanted to be lured into a trap Malfoy was preparing for him.

The moment he tore the letter out of Draco's pocket, the blond gripped his hand with impressive strength, nearly breaking the bone. The paper broke with a screeching sound. Draco crammed the pieces into his pocket and glowered at Harry.

"You will not touch this! It's personal."

"You have nothing personal while you live under this roof!" Harry fired thoughtlessly. His words pained Draco, that much was crystal clear. The blond pursed his lips and said coolly:

"It is a letter from my mother if you must know. And I'd rather die than let you read it."


	4. Pride And Prejudice of Draco Malfoy

**Title**: "Cui Prodest"

**Author**: Shaitanah

**Rating**: R

**Timeline**: post-HBP

**Summary**: When Draco seeks refuge in the Order, Harry is assigned to protect him. Big mistake, that is. + The Dark Lord steps in. Bow to his will!

**Pairings**: Harry/Draco, minor Harry/Ginny, minor Ron/Hermione (in various chapters), etc.

**Disclaimer**: _'Harry Potter'_ belongs to JKR. Unfortunately. We all know that, don't we?

**Special thanks**: to my beta Lady Domino. You're the Guardian Angel of this story, honey!

**A/N**: A million thanks to those who reviewed. You guys are the best! Now here's a little surprise at the end that will reveal much more about Draco. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**_Pride And Prejudice Of Draco Malfoy_**

_Set me free,_

_Your heaven's lie!_

Lacuna Coil. _'Heaven's a Lie'

* * *

_

From the roof of the block of flats the whole city resembled a mass of greyish beads scattered about chaotically as if flung down by some petulant child. It was beautiful. Not as beautiful as Egypt seen through the miraculous Muggle telly-window, but beautiful in its own special morose way. It was a city of fog, rain and gas fumes; futuristic, yet its roots ran deep into the past.

The spotted owl hooted persistently. Draco finished the letter and folded it carefully. "Here you are, girl," he whispered. The bird spread its wings and disappeared amidst the clouds.

Standing by the window of his bedroom, Harry caught the glimpse of it. He let Hedwig leap off his forearm as she started into the air, tracking the other bird.

Draco didn't see that but he knew Potter wouldn't miss the opportunity. 'Good, let him try and break his teeth,' he thought vengefully. Potter thought he was cunning. Well, Draco was always willing to prove him wrong.

He returned to the flat and found it empty. A note written in Potter's rough handwriting was attached to the fridge.

'_Gone on the Order's business. Be back soon. Don't do anything stupid._

_Harry.'_

"Okay, Mummy, I'll try!" Draco laughed.

He noticed that the toy bear was missing. Uh-huh, Order's business, sure-sure! He wondered what Harry saw in that bony dull Weasley redhead. She was cute in her own way but no more than that. Granger, on the other hand, was blossoming with years. But frankly speaking, Draco couldn't picture any girl at Potter's side. It just seemed wrong for a hero like that to have a girlfriend. Potter was not meant for love. He belonged not to one person, but to the whole big bright beautiful world he would have to save over and over, like Jesus Christ, or Albus Dumbledore, or Superman (that last name came from a movie Draco saw on TV the day before). 'Goddamn Godric Gryffindor in the flesh!' Lucius used to say.

On the journal table Malfoy noticed a small book in white paperback cover. The title written in intricate black letters said: 'Pride And Prejudice'. The first lines didn't really impress Draco. It was a banal women's novel, but stubborn as he was, Draco had made up his mind to educate himself in Muggle culture. You had to start somewhere. Despite his prejudice, Draco ended up completely engulfed in reading.

By the time Potter returned, Draco had already swallowed half of the novel. The youth observed him for a moment before asking what he was reading. Draco showed him the cover, expecting nasty comments which were not long in coming.

"Oh, I see you've finally found yourself an upstanding model of behaviour to look up to. It's a girly book. How come you're reading it?"

Draco shrugged, seemingly unaffected. "I was bored. Hey, by the way, _it's a girly book_! How come you own a copy?"

"Er… it's Hermione's favourite writer. She must have left it here."

Potter disappeared in the kitchen, not eager to go on with this discussion. Draco resumed reading but curiosity hindered his attempts to concentrate. He had his own melodrama to go through.

Sitting by the window with a mug of steaming coffee in his hands, Potter looked anything but happy. Well, at least, the bear was nowhere to be seen, so the Weaslette must have at least accepted the present. Draco frowned.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Oh come on, Potter! You know what I'm interested in. Spare me this moment of humiliation and spill it quickly."

Harry laughed humourlessly. "Truth is, I didn't get to talk to her."

"You what?"

"I was scared. I asked Ron to tell Ginny that I–."

Draco snorted loudly, assured in his supreme disdain for such indecisiveness.

"Will you ever change, Golden Boy? Don't be such a wimp! It doesn't become you. You're not Longbottom, after all. Funny that Weaselby hasn't cast an Avada Kedavra on you yet for playing such games with his little sister!"

Flooded with coffee smoke and the pungent smell of Chinese food, the flat was gradually sinking into the pre-nocturnal haze. Hushed voices floated forth from the telly, consuming the living room. Harry sat on the couch crossed-legged in Turkish fashion, pale and miserable, thinking about the girlfriend whom he did not have the courage to speak openly to and his bird that was still missing. Draco smiled moodily. He doubted whether the bird was coming back at all.

The smoke grew more intense. Draco poured himself a cup of coffee and took a tour around the flat as he usually did when he wanted to rummage through Potter's stuff. The table in the Golden Boy's bedroom was mercilessly flooded with papers; at a closer look, Draco saw they were photographs. He picked one up at random. The woman on photo was smiling, spinning and throwing her arms up in a monotonous, inelaborate dance. Her hair swung around her like flaming petals. She sank down, laughing. Her plain white dress stretched down a bit. She beckoned someone to come near. Probably the photographer. And then she danced again, and she sat on the floor again, and she invited him to come over again.

Draco scattered the photos around and pulled out a heavy book covered in leather. The same woman smiled at him from the front page. This time she was not alone. A good-looking bespectacled man was next to her, and together they were holding a little boy whose innocent green eyes mimicked those of his mother. The woman looked slightly older and the man had that strangely familiar glimmer in his eyes. The baby's forehead was clean, yet Draco felt something was missing.

He realized Potter had been standing behind him for a little while. His attention was fixed on the picture. The family waved at him happily, and he allowed himself an estranged smile.

"Is that your mother?" asked Malfoy, showing as little curiosity as he possibly could. Potter nodded. Draco noted, "She's beautiful," and then, before the youth could say anything – "for a Muggleborn. And don't worry: you look nothing like her."

Harry snorted. With his back on Malfoy, he spoke, emphasizing the name: "You know, _Draco_, next time you say something nice, you might just not want to spice it up with your everyday doze of sarcasm. For a change.

"Well, _pardon_!" Draco grinned. "Old habits die hard."

He resumed studying the photos. The album wasn't much of an interest, packed mostly with images of Hogwarts, Weaselby and Granger, the rest of the Weasley clan, some adults unfamiliar to Malfoy and, surprisingly, of Harry himself, clumsy and reluctant to be photographed (he no doubt was resenting being the 'art' of unyielding Colin Creevy). Those separate photos were older, scratched in places, with crammed corners and uneven handwriting upon the backside. Draco opened the empty pages of the album and began to fill it in.

Potter's mother had red hair… No wonder he'd fallen for the Weasley girl.

That simple process suddenly appealed to Draco greatly. He found comfort in sorting the pictures, flashing through the different periods of various lives and wondering what that red-haired fairy was really like.

This brought up the misery for his own mother. Cold, and arrogant, and beautiful like an Ice Queen, Narcissa cherished her son with a motherly passion that no one would have ever guessed lurked beneath her reserved façade. They had never had a family album. Come to think of it, the Malfoys' pictures only appeared regularly in the chronicles of high society, newspapers and (not so pleasant a fact) in the Aurors' 'Most wanted' top list.

But none of these pictures were self-made.

Draco imagined what it would be like to have such an album.

The rustling of the blinds caught his attention. Harry's blasted bird had returned. Draco frowned. A few drops of blood over the snow-white feathers, scratched wing… The owl was safe and sound save for a few clues to the hardships it had gone through while spying after Dandelion. Honestly, had Potter seriously planned to intercept his mail? Draco pretended not to have noticed.

* * *

Draco finished the book in two days, mainly because he was too distracted by bickering with the owner of the flat about cleaning (he hated living in a pigsty but he had already humiliated himself by playing a servant once and he did not intend to do it again) and arranging the album. Finally everything was ready. Draco examined the result of his work; it satisfied him. From the corner of his eye he caught Potter staring.

"I didn't realize… I just…" the Golden Boy murmured and looked at Draco helplessly.

"No need to thank me."

Harry sighed and trotted after his lodger.

"You know, Malfoy, I need to tell you something… and I think I don't know where to start."

"Stop mumbling and start from the beginning," Draco stated coolly, chewing on an oversized apple. Funny but Potter's fridge was swarming with apples. Was it some kind of disease?

"I have to leave for a while. For a… considerably long while. Ron, Hermione and I are going somewhere, you see–."

"What does it have to do with me?"

Harry scratched the back of his head thoughtfully and said:

"I will be absent for a long time. Someone else will be looking after you. Someone from the DA. Luna, perhaps. Or Neville. Scratch that; he can't stand the sight of you."

Draco snorted. "I don't care as long as I stay here and don't go back to that wretched hotel. Or better yet–."

"No!" Harry interrupted, knowing what the blond was artlessly playing at. "Unless you've finally decided to cooperate."

Draco shook his head. Flashing him the 'I-thought-so' look, Harry strolled away to his room.

Had Malfoy been told before that the news of Potter's departure would cause such an inner turmoil in him, he would have laughed and forgotten it in an instant. But now he just paced about the room and couldn't calm down. Judging by the sounds coming from Potter's lair, he was packing. Rapid footsteps that almost mimicked those of Malfoy, light curses indicating that the Golden Blunder-head had apparently lost something _again_. Draco's heart sank. He could not imagine anyone else in Potter's place, especially that half-witted Lovegood girl.

Draco walked into Potter's room resolutely. Harry was fussing about a small bagpack, throwing his clothes in there in disorder. He didn't lift his head to greet Draco but merely acknowledged his presence with a brief inaudible 'Humph'.

"I was just…" Malfoy stumbled.

Mesmerized, he could only devour Potter with a hungry stare. Harry hunched over a huge pile of clothes, his shoulderblades moving lazily underneath the fabric of his t-shirt. So unjust! How could such a petty, awkward creature be so wickedly beautiful!?

"I was wondering when exactly you were leaving," Draco blurted out.

"Oh, er… the day after tomorrow."

His efforts became all the more desperate. Draco cut the distance separating them and almost wrapped his arms around Potter's body. The youth tensed. Draco dipped his hand into the pile of clothes and rummaged through it, pressing himself tighter to the quivering body that stood in his way.

"Looking for this?" he asked softly, holding a comb with a broken tooth.

"Yeah, thanks," the gasping answer came.

Draco covered Potter's hand with his own. That was not right. Being so close, drawing his scent in forcefully, almost tasting the anxiety he radiated… Such a sharp stab of desire pierced him that Draco was appalled by it.

"I thought maybe… just maybe… I could, you know… go with you."

Harry moved back a few inches. They both gasped, losing control. Draco was growing harder; his fingers entwined with Harry's, the other hand stroked the young man's hip. Harry attempted to shift in his embrace, but Draco's touch paralyzed him. He was only able to whimper helplessly as jolts of pleasure shot through his body.

Malfoy's lips travelled gently along his neck, not touching his skin but letting his breath tickle it lightly. The tip of his tongue painted soft moist dots on Potter's jawline.

"N-no," Harry breathed stubbornly.

Malfoy sucked at his earlobe playfully.

"Why not? My talents can be of use. For example…" He directed Harry's hand into the vortex of fabric and fished a wallet out of it. "You keep losing stuff. I could find everything you've lost."

"That's what I have Hermione for. She can be very–." Another sharp intake of air. Trembling harder. Draco resisted the urge to hurl him on the bed and…

"Yes?"

"Very donnish," Harry finished the sentence.

He turned round at last and faced Malfoy. Green eyes met the grey ones. Their breath mixed as they stared at each other. Harry licked his lips inadvertently; they gleamed wet, driving Malfoy insane with desire.

Run away from that revolting, unnatural, wonderful feeling…

"Well, so much the worse for you," Draco whispered and walked out. Behind him Harry collapsed on the floor with a quiet groan.

The blond's face brightened into a nasty smile.

* * *

'_Legilimens!'_

"_No, please, not these memories! Don't… no!"_

_He pressed his forehead to the glass of the phone booth and slid down to the ground, cold, moist asphalt beneath him. The apparatus above him kept ringing._

_One thought was pulsing in his head. 'Oh God, oh God, oh God! I failed. He'll kill me, he'll kill my entire family.' And he was alone in the centre of a grim, extinct city. He did not know what it was but he was terrified. He screamed again, "Help me!"_

'_Legilimens!'_

"_No, please, please, please, stop!"_

_These were happier memories. He was running, the wind in his hair, spring mud staining his expensive trousers. He took out his wand and wrote on the garage wall: _'Veni, vidi, vinci'_, the huge red 'V's' melting in the sun. Such were all the Malfoys. They came, they saw and they inevitably conquered._

'_Legilimens!'_

_Someone was pulling his memories out of him, and it hurt so much. He cried out and he dropped on the ground, panting. _

"_Stop! Stop! Stop!"_

_Feeding ducks. Children in the park. And Potter told him he didn't want him to go. But Potter was leaving. The blasted git was leaving! Leaving him alone._

Draco awoke with a start, exhaling sharply. His heart pounding, he could still hear the sharp telephone ringing and the gunshot. _Bang_! _Bang-bang_ in the dark!

An owl knocked on the window. Dark grey and pretty large, it was by no means his old acquaintance, the spotted Dandelion. Draco dressed with deliberate slowness and slipped outside quietly.

* * *

The Dark Lord stood motionless, obscured by shadows, waiting for the visitor to initiate the conversation. Draco greeted him formally and gave him a stiff bow. The older man's thin lips moved for an instant, forming a repulsive smile.

Bitter taste filled young Malfoy's mouth. His heart was banging like a miniature bomb ready to go off.

"What would you have me do, my lord?" he asked in a weary voice.

"I see you have learnt of father's tragic demise," said Voldemort. "My condolences. But things are not going very well for us, the living, my young servant. I would like to know why."

All this time Draco had visited the Order of the Phoenix only once: the first time he contacted it. After that he was forced to take up his residence in those dreary Muggle hotels. He changed his quarters rather frequently, visited mostly by Potter alone or in the company of the shabby Professor Lupin whose dejected air infected Draco with a state of horrifying fatigue. Lupin rarely opened his mouth. When he did talk, he was extra-careful not to divulge anything vital.

Once Potter brought his mistrustful girlfriend. The miniscule redhead eyed him suspiciously but never uttered a word, not even 'hello'.

Now that Draco resided at Harry's, he saw no visitors at all. Potter used to disappear for a while, to meet his friends, for sure. But Draco didn't dare shadow him.

He reported thoroughly to his master and waited for further instructions. The Dark Lord stepped back into the shadows, not even the dreary flash of his scarlet eyes visible, and pondered the matter in silence. Meanwhile Draco mustered his courage and murmured:

"I want out."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I don't want to do this anymore."

A slight frown distorted the smoothness of Voldemort's hairless eye-brows as his face re-appeared close to Malfoy's face.

"What makes you think I shall let you go?" he chuckled.

Draco smiled. "Because next time I might drop by with half the Order to cover my back. They think I'm on their side, remember?"

"No one is irreplaceable, young Malfoy," said Voldemort, leaning into him menacingly. "Not even your father. And he _was_ the closest thing."

Draco's lips trembled. He dug his nails hard into his palms.

"It would take ages to infiltrate another agent into that troublesome organization," he stood firmly by his final line of defence. "And none would get this far. I _am_ indeed irreplaceable for you, my lord."

Voldemort considered the statement moodily. His bloodshot eyes turned to regard his young minion once more. Draco felt his cheeks flush crimson for no reason. Voldemort's stare awakened the deepest and the most cryptic excitement in him.

"Give me that which I desire most," he whispered at last, his breath tickling Draco's bare neck, "and I swear I shall no longer pursue you or any of your kin."

Realization swept over the youth in a blood-red tide.

"Betray Potter."

"What do you care about him? Does he care about you?"

Draco swallowed, his forehead damp with sweat.

'_Fuck off, Malfoy! I'm only doing this because they made me!' Harry Potter had snarled at him. His guard. Yeah, right!_

_Harry Potter had comforted him after the young man's suicide back in the hotel._

_Harry Potter's groin pressed to his; arguing; giving him shelter; looking at him with raw need. Harry Potter rejecting his friendship on the train all those years ago. Harry Potter filling every blank in the shattering world._

_The scent, the taste, the touch._

Draco shook his head. "He doesn't trust me."

An amused chuckle escaped Voldemort's lips. "You don't have to have him trust you to manipulate him with your special, sensual grace. You have the charm, young Malfoy. That which I can never use against my beloved enemy."

The observation sent hints of arousal through Draco's body. The image of Potter trying to efface himself in the shower – and failing miserably – popped into his mind. Voldemort scoffed, and Draco knew he should shield his mind better.

"Deal?"

Draco's steel eyes narrowed to slits. He extended a hand and whispered, "Deal."


	5. Breakdown

**Title**: "Cui Prodest"

**Author**: Shaitanah

**Rating**: hard R (overall)

**Timeline**: post-HBP

**Summary**: When Draco seeks refuge in the Order, Harry is assigned to protect him. Big mistake, that is. + Draco learns the secret about his father's death. The journey begins. Please R&R!

**Pairings**: Harry/Draco, minor Harry/Ginny, minor Ron/Hermione (in various chapters), etc.

**Disclaimer**: _'Harry Potter'_ belongs to JKR. No copyright infringement intended.

**Special thanks**: to my wonderful beta Lady Domino.

**A/N**: Thank you so much for your reviews! ;) You're the best. And I'm very sorry for the screwed up formatting; the Document Manager is playing weird tricks on me again.

**Chapter 5**

**_Breakdown_**

"_The worst kind of lies are the lies we tell ourselves just before we go to sleep."_

Desperate Housewives. _Ep. 1X15 'Impossible'_

-------------------------

'_I'll take you to hell with me, Potter!' the Dark Lord roared and lunged forward. Harry had a few seconds to evade the killing blow. Tears blurred his vision, shimmering across the form of the oncoming figure._

'_Sunshine,' he heard his mother's voice. He reached out for her but she slipped away; only her voice remained, devoid of flesh, ringing in his ears._

_Voldemort was laughing at him. Harry lay on the ground, paralyzed by his heavy stare. The figure above him grew taller and obscured everything. _

'_Now, young Harry, you will die!'_

'_Wake up, honey! Wake up!' Lily insisted. 'Wake up.'_

Harry did as she asked him to; sweating, screaming, he woke up to Malfoy holding his hand and looking at him with mortal concern. They said nothing to each other. Harry simply nodded gratefully and rolled to the other side of the bed. Malfoy lay down next to him. It was a sort of therapy to stay so close to each other in silence. Words were unnecessary; they only hurt.

And Harry made his final decision.

----------------------------

In the dimness Hermione's eyes didn't glow. They were brown and reminded Harry of dark chocolate, a vast abyss of it.

She was sitting in front of him in a huge cozy arm-chair. Her bushy hair fell over her shoulders in neat waves. It didn't escape Harry's wondering attention that Ron, who was sitting on the window-sill, kept watch over her with some inexplicable tenderness.

"So you still haven't told him?" Hermione drew out thoughtfully. "He deserves to know."

"You think I don't realize that? I can't! I just can't! It will finish him. He's just so… proud."

"Finish him, you say?" Ron interrupted. "Excellent, you tell him, and let's be off!"

Both Harry and Hermione flashed him accusatory looks. He snorted and turned back to the window. It was raining outside.

"I will tell him," Harry said stubbornly. "I just don't know when."

"_Before_ we leave, not after. Not in a letter or something. He deserves to know the truth and he deserves to learn it from you. You have the reports. It's your responsibility."

Harry hit the table angrily with his fist. Ron knitted his eye-brows but said nothing. Hermione merely sighed and regarded him steadily.

"I think you'd better go and say bye to Ginny," Ron suggested timidly. "She's kind of distraught over what's happened, you know. And she's not going with us, right?"

He hopped down from the window-sill and sat next to Harry. Hermione moved on the couch too, and together they held hands for a while, savouring the moment.

"Yeah, it'll be just the three of us," Harry murmured. "Like good old times."

They laughed insecurely. Seemed like it was millennia ago. Harry watched his friends for a few minutes as they argued about the details of their past adventures. Was it possible that their Golden Trio was breaking?

"Guys, there was something I wanted to talk to you about," he began from afar.

-------------------------------

He had had a feeling they wouldn't like it. Hermione rolled her eyes but kept quiet. He was thankful for that. She had become much more reserved. Ron, on the other hand, had gone ballistic. Harry didn't bother to recall all of his accusations and curses. He almost wished Mrs Weasley was there to restrain her unruly son.

"You're coming with us," he announced to Malfoy straight from the doorstep.

The blond frowned slightly but his puzzlement was soon replaced by a victorious grin. Harry hated to tarnish his triumph. He hated himself for not having talked to him earlier.

"Draco, there's something else I have to tell you," he murmured. "Your father… I haven't told you the complete truth. You probably thought he was murdered. But… he slit his wrists."

"I don't know what that means," Malfoy said in a choked voice, his gaze vacant.

Harry blinked. He expected disbelief, resistance, hysteria, of course, but he had just bumped into a solid wall of misunderstanding, as if Malfoy had shut his brain down. He was staring at him expressionlessly, his pale lips trembling slightly, but otherwise, with his usual equanimity.

"You don't know what 'slit his wrists' means? He killed himself–."

"Ah, no… I still don't know what that means," Draco repeated at a loss. "I don't… I don't catch that. Hang on, I don't… What are you trying–?"

Harry compressed his shoulder forcefully, making Draco look him in the eye.

"Listen to me. I'm sorry I haven't told you from the start. But it _is_ true. Lucius was neither executed by the Ministry forces, nor killed by the Death Eaters. He chose to die. It appears he obtained some kind of a sharp object which he used to–."

"Stop it! Shut up!" Draco snapped. He pushed Harry away and screamed at the top of his lungs: "Don't you ever say such things about my father! Shut the fuck up, Potter! Shut up, or I swear I'll rip your filthy tongue out!"

He burst out sobbing, shaking violently. He had completely lost control and couldn't regain it no matter how hard he tried. Harry had only seen the real Draco a few times before and he seized that rare opportunity now and just stared at him with the mix of compassion and resentment.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Draco breathed through stifled sobs and rushed to the loo.

He cried. He hit the lavatory pan so hard he could have broken his fist. He feared he'd vomit his guts out. Sitting quietly by the door, Harry waited for him to finish.

Time wore on. It grew dark, street torches turned on and blazed yellow in the bluish smog. Tired of inaction, Harry knocked shyly and walked into the bathroom.

Malfoy didn't bother to look at him. His eyes red and swollen, he remained motionless, his back pressed to the tub. Harry wanted to pat his shoulder but Malfoy stopped his hand mid-way.

"I don't need your damn Gryffindor pity. You hate me. Act like that. Why this sudden change of spirits?"

"Let's forget how we feel towards each other just for once," Harry suggested. Malfoy's words rang in his ears: he did hate him; _why_, then? "Please, Draco."

Fierce grey eyes met the green of his own.

"Never call me that, Potter! That name is not for you to use. I will not tolerate that!"

Silence. And then:

"Will you tell me what happened? How did he die?"

Harry had a colourful report from prison guards complete with pictures that demonstrated Lucius Malfoy's wounds in detail. He had copies of the protocols of the interrogations, testimonies of those who had confirmed death, the conclusion of a pathologist and a lot of additional documentation. And he felt no remorse when he decided to show all the files to Malfoy. While Draco was reading, the Gryffindor curled up on the couch and squeezed his mind shut. No thinking. It hurt so much.

"That's what I have come to," Malfoy said quietly, putting the files off. "The head of a crushed empire, my mother in hiding, my father a pathetic suicide. Well, celebrate your victory, Potter. Haven't you always wanted to see me broken?"

"No, I haven't. I–."

Harry fell silent. All the words expired. Here was his eternal school enemy at his worst.

"Does it really matter _how_ he died?" Harry asked carefully. "I mean, you lost your father, that's–."

"That's disgusting!" Malfoy spat. Cruelty blazed in his eyes. His face transformed into a bony mask worthy of Voldemort himself. In a chilly, metallic voice he said: "My father was a coward if he chose to go like that. However, unlike him I have no intention to bring further disgrace to the family."

His back proudly straight, he strode away to his room. Overwhelmed, Harry dropped his head on the pillow and fell asleep swiftly.

------------------------------------

_He was five, already rather tall for a boy his age, lean and showing relatively good manners. His aunts admired him, his uncles nodded approvingly, patted his father's shoulder and said, 'Congratulation, Malfoy, the boy will go far!' He already knew how to bully his parents for sweets, and crowds of other boys followed him without a word if he needed company._

_His childhood was, no doubt, perfect._

Harry shuddered. Whose dream was this? Not his, again.

_Malfoy Manor was a beautiful house. House elves sneaked to and fro in the widest corridors, and then there was his father's study, and he'd climb on his father's knee and pretend to read boring documentation scattered on the table._

Harry felt the man's hand touch his head. He looked up and saw deep grey eyes looking back at him. Despite himself, he smiled shyly.

He had no intention, no right to be there, to smile like that. But those eyes captivated him.

_Then there were the stables, and his own little pony there. Soon he'd grow up enough to master a real horse but for now they were just too big for him. Father allowed him to ride a broom. It was their secret; mother would be too nervous if she found out. He flew low above the ground and was always supervised by father. _

_And there was a pretty garden full of remarkable prize-winning flowers. Mother loved to hide there to muse at peace. Once he saw his parents kissing amidst roses and jasmine._

Tenderness filled Harry's heart. He turned away from the scene and for the first time in his life he realized he was, and had always been, happy.

'_Little Dragon,' his father called, laughing. 'I see you. You have yet to learn how to hide from me!'_

_Slightly embarrassed, he crept out of the bush. His mother smiled and ruffled his hair._

Harry cast his eyes down.

'_Legilimens!'_

He shuddered.

_He shouted out. Voldemort! He wanted to run but his legs refused to move. He could only see his future burning ahead of him. He wished he were dead. For good._

'_Give me just one more chance, my lord! I will do anything!'_

Harry screamed but couldn't dive out of the dream. And Draco was not there to hold him and yell at him to wake up. Draco huddled on his bed, hands over his ears, and he wished Potter would stop screaming, please, please, please, just stop it, but he couldn't force himself to get up and help. He was broken and scared, waiting desperately for the morning to come. Then they would leave.

--------------------------------------

Harry rang the doorbell and stepped back. The woman who opened the door looked at him in astonishment, failing to conceal it.

"You? How are you here?"

"I won't stay long," Harry cut her off coolly. "I have no intention to bring any tumult in you life, Aunt Petunia. Just a couple of days, please. I'm only here because I promised…" His throat became tight. The woman watched him in puzzlement as he braced himself and added quietly: "I promised Professor Dumbledore. He's dead by the way."

She grew pale and stepped aside to let him pass. Draco bowed to her slightly and introduced himself. His politeness came as a surprise to Harry but he was glad about it. After all, when Draco met Uncle Vernon, diamond would cut diamond! One couldn't stand wizards, the other was a typical anti-Muggle racist.

Harry had never wanted to return to Privet Drive. He knew nothing but hardships there. But being inside those walls again, breathing the soft aroma of Aunt Petunia's cookery in almost felt like being at home. For a minute. For a second. Harry took a seat on the sofa and peered intently at the fireplace.

"How did it happen?" Aunt Petunia asked.

Harry looked up. She was standing right in front of him, plucking at her apron.

"We are currently in the state of open warfare," Harry replied; he never realized he was quoting Dumbledore's words. "He was a… casualty of war."

Later that day Harry stood by the sink, washing the dishes. The water was so hot he could barely feel his fingers. Only a pestering prickling feeling remained. Malfoy entered the kitchen quietly and sat at the table, drilling Harry with an impassive gaze. Harry gritted his teeth. Ignore him. Just ignore him.

"Why aren't there your pictures in the living room?" Draco asked. "Or your mother's?"

"We were never part of that family. Nor have I ever wanted to be."

He shoved a plate into the soapy gulf, but then loosened his grip, afraid the plate would crack. The door slammed in the hall, a man's hoarse voice inquired something, Aunt Petunia's high-pitched voice retorted. Harry never wanted to provoke a fight.

"Guess I should have given them a two weeks notice," he grinned.

At night they lay in the darkness of Harry's old room, trying in vain to fall asleep. Uncle Vernon refused to give Draco a separate room; instead they moved another bed here. Draco, naturally, couldn't keep his mouth shut. As soon as they were alone, he expressed his distaste for a new lodging rather clearly.

Harry snorted.

"You haven't seen the cupboard under the stairs I occupied before I returned from Hogwarts in my first year."

He couldn't see Draco with his glasses off. Instead he revelled in the quiet sound of the other's breathing, the rustling of sheets, the sound of cars passing by in the street.

"You've never talked to them about the money, have you?" Draco inquired in a weary voice. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now."

"I was angry. At the way you asked me. They wouldn't have listened to me anyway. You're a notorious Death Eater's son. No one knows what to expect from you." While talking, Harry realized that all this time everything had been just as simple as that. "While you depend on them, it's easier to control you. They are using you just like you are using them."

Draco was silent for a few minutes. Harry began to doze off when Draco's words struck him:

"Bravo, Potter. It wasn't that hard to deduce, was it? That we are all pawns in someone's game."

Harry dreamt of an enormous chess-board. His friends, his family, his enemies, even Voldemort were standing in their squares immobile. Someone laughed in the distance.

----------------------------

First thing in the morning Harry had a meeting with Lupin. His former DADA teacher appeared even more exhausted than he usually did. He rarely showed up in the Order these days, engulfed in his spying activities. Harry was long since accustomed to Lupin's red eyes, sallow complexion and hoarse voice.

Lupin greeted him with a warm smile.

"Arthur received an owl from Ron," he informed Harry. "They have already reached Godric's Hollow."

Harry nodded.

"Good. I'll be there shortly."

"There is one thing I cannot understand. Why take Malfoy with you?"

"You said it yourself: it's _my_ responsibility."

Lupin regarded him solemnly.

"How long do you plan on staying with your family?"

Harry shrugged. "Just a couple of days. According to Professor Dumbledore, the magic will expire on July 31. We'll leave in the morning."

They strolled casually down the street. It was still very early. Passers-by paid no attention to them, hurrying somewhere. The city was so big and restless, no matter what time it was. A normal life was waiting just round the corner. It reminded Harry why he liked Muggles so much. No one recognized him. His glasses, his cheerless green eyes, his untameable black fringe hiding a bizarre scar were all no more than tokens of an ordinary boy. And no one would squeal and gossip about his private life. No one would stare at him with fanatic admiration. No one would count on him to save the bloody world.

"I know what you are thinking about," said Lupin. "You will have it, I swear. I should say I admire your poise. The way you handle the situation with Malfoy… after everything he's done… Don't get me wrong, Harry, I know better than anyone else that a person always deserves a second chance. But this particular matter is just so… tricky."

"Professor, please!" Harry cut off.

"All right. I shall say no more. Thought you'd like to know my opinion, though."

They walked through the alley, keeping their thoughts to themselves. Intuitively Harry knew Lupin was right – just as he knew Ron and Hermione were right. He tripped and almost sank on the first step of an iron staircase. Damn! He hated being distracted because he inevitably became more clumsy physically. Not for the first time he missed the grace of flying, of soaring on a broomstick in the air where all that mattered was him and a speck of gold and he was a god above the sea of mortals staring up at him in wonder.

Harry put his foot on the lower step and began lacing his shoe, cursing softly under his breath. A man in a leather jacket passed somewhere on the periphery of his sight. Harry looked up immediately.

"I saw him too," Lupin mouthed.

"I know him. He was tracking us a few days ago."

"Annison!" Lupin almost barked. "One of Greyback's flunkies. 'Likes' me a lot. Greyback forbade him to stalk me. But he's just relentless! This is his man."

One more face emerged from the crowd. It was clear that they were not going to attack in public but Harry's heart leapt. They circled round the alley, watching, sniffing the air just like real animals would do. Watchdogs. Harry felt a rush of disgust. Lupin had never been like that.

Or maybe he was just his father's friend. That explained a lot.

"We mustn't let them get away!" Lupin exclaimed. Already on the run, he answered Harry's unasked question: "They cannot be allowed to contact Annison. They have seen us together, if not heard our conversation. This will utterly ruin my legend."

Harry felt a sharp and all too familiar pang of remorse. He had brought this danger on Lupin.

The werewolves split up and so did Harry and Remus. To run after the animal was harder than Harry imagined. The werewolf leapt over the fence with exquisite ease. Harry bit his lip in dismay. No way could he perform the same move at such pace. He threw up his hand clutching the wand firmly and shouted, _'Obliviate!'_

The man vanished around the corner. Harry's heart skipped a beat. He wasn't entirely sure the spell had hit the target.

He met Remus half-way back to the alley. The professor had just apparated his captive away. His lips curved into a wry smile as Harry gave a brisk explanation of what had happened.

"Well… at least, he can reveal nothing," he murmured thoughtfully.

Harry nodded. Drowning in his reverie, watching the people blend together in a single solid stream, he felt deeply sorry for himself. It appalled him.

"I think I've missed," he confessed and avoided looking at Remus, completely destroyed by self-pity.

Lupin's eyebrows formed two diagonal lines meeting in a slight frown. Without a word he embraced Harry and let the youth's head rest on his shoulder. His fingers travelled through Harry's hair, as if shielding the boy's mind from a horrible awareness that his friend's future might already be hanging by a thread.

-----------------------------------

Harry returned to the Dursleys' empty house and the first thing to greet him was an intangible yet solid silence. Harry ceased to breathe for a split second, afraid to break it. And then he called in a shrill voice, "Malfoy!"

Nothing.

Harry rushed up the stairs, checked their room and found no trace of his ward. The darned bastard was gone! Harry cursed through gritted teeth. Malfoy ran off like a bloody coward!

"Malfoy!" Harry shriekd once again.

"What?" a familiar cold voice asked from behind his back.

Harry swung around and grabbed Draco by the elbow. The move was unexpected for both of them. For a moment they stood stock-still, glaring at each other.

"Have you been out today?" Harry asked, trying to keep suspicion out his voice.

Draco shrugged. "Where would I go?"

Releasing him, Harry leaned heavily against the wall and closed his eyes. He could still feel Malfoy's bold, questioning look glide all over his body. 'He's watching me. He's been watching me for far too long already. Why won't he turn away?' Harry felt too uneasy to pursue the thought. In the back of his mind, he knew that Malfoy was probably lying…


	6. Taking Sides

**Title**: "Cui Prodest"

**Author**: Shaitanah

**Rating**: R

**Timeline**: post-HBP

**Summary**: When Draco seeks refuge in the Order, Harry is assigned to protect him. Big mistake, that is. + Draco is so messed up in his affairs even he doesn't know if he's good or bad. New assignment, new journey, new visions, new revelation. Please R&R!

**Pairings**: Harry/Draco, minor Harry/Ginny, minor Ron/Hermione (in various chapters), etc.

**Disclaimer**: _'Harry Potter'_ belongs to JKR. And I have nothing else to do but play with her characters. Yeah, right!

**Special thanks**: to my beta Lady Domino.

**A/N**: Thank you so much for your wonderful reviews. I'm so tired now that I can barely think at all. Too much work, arrrrghhh! Please, feed the hungry and tired author more reviews for this one! ;) Thank you, guys, you're the best!

* * *

**Chapter 6**

**_Taking Sides_**

_Now I'm on my own side._

_It's better than being on your side._

The All-American Rejects. _'It Ends Tonight'

* * *

_

Draco circled around the house several times in the dim pre-dawn darkness before he finally convinced himself no one was watching. He reread the letter again, and it was then and only then when he mustered his courage and knocked.

He was practically pulled inside, and thrown onto the couch in the living room, where piercing black eyes glared at him reproachfully.

"Do you want all the world to know where I live?"

Draco blinked in surprise. He was sure he had done everything right. A mask of arrogant indifference slipped back on his face. He regarded the owner of the house coolly. He had rarely seen Snape without his black teacher's robes on. A simple cotton shirt and light summer trousers seemed to fit just as perfectly.

Not listening to the lecture on methods of camouflage Snape was giving him, Draco stood, approached the older man and looked straight into his eyes. They were almost on the same level as his own. Those boundless wells of darkness hypnotized him. Allowing himself what would possibly be the last moment of weakness, Draco dropped his head on Snape's shoulder and didn't move. He felt as if he could never move again… just stand there frozen in space and time, imagining it was his father.

Snape moved back, pulling away, and vanished into the kitchen without a word. A few minutes later Draco was given tea that tasted vaguely of herbs as he sipped it, trying to regain his self-control.

"I should say that I was pleased with your recent report," Snape said. "And now you are leaving, aren't you?"

Draco nodded. "Tomorrow, sir. I don't know where, though. We're going to meet Weasley and Granger and…"

Snape barely gave him any heed at all. His eyes seemed to have changed their shade, becoming even darker. Draco couldn't hold his gaze long.

"You had a meeting with the Dark Lord." It was by no means a question.

"I told him I wanted this to end," Draco declared.

He endured the look of those fearsome eyes with stoic patience. The silence wore on until it became utterly unbearable. Draco drew his breath in sharply. He was ready to beg the professor to speak when Snape asked unexpectedly:

"What did he say?"

Malfoy related his conversation with Voldemort in every detail. The older wizard nodded with reserve and observed:

"You seem suspiciously opposed to this idea, even though it is your chance to kill two birds with one stone."

Draco kept quiet, uncertain. He couldn't tell why he objected inwardly to the deal that could set him free once and for all. Was it because he had no trust in Voldemort? Undoubtedly! Or because he had developed certain feelings for a certain green-eyed, raven-haired, bespectacled pain in Voldemort's neck?

Draco collected his thoughts and said resolutely, "I'll go along with the plan. Let's see if he can keep his word."

Snape leaned in towards him, his eyes sparkling. "What do you want, Draco?"

Mesmerized, the youth forgot how to breathe for a moment.

And then, one word – the one that Draco had been struggling to pronounce for all eternity – slipped off his tongue:

"Revenge."

"On?"

"Both of them!" Draco almost screamed. It felt so good not to have to restrain himself. He was sick of pretending to be a good boy, sick of acting, sick of hiding – though he had always been acting, and pretending, and hiding his emotions. He said viciously: "It's because of Potter that my father's dead. And Voldemort has ruined my life. I want both of them to suffer. If I can't make them suffer, I will at least die trying."

Snape snorted, amused. "No need for such pathos, Mr Malfoy. It is not getting you anywhere. By the way, have you already made up your mind about where you plan to go?"

"I was thinking about Egypt, sir."

"That is hardly a wise decision." Snape frowned. Draco held his breath. The man looked startlingly handsome like this, a slight frown cutting the alabaster of his forehead. "Egypt is a homeland of many dark wizards. Lord Voldemort has, to my knowledge, always been fascinated by it. He conducted much research in those lands. It is highly unlikely that you should escape him there."

"I'm willing to take the risk, sir," Draco objected.

Snape rose and walked to the next room, beckoning Draco to follow with a dry nod. The curtains were down; only a thin sunbeam jumped through the room full of Muggle technical equipment. Metres of twisted wire curled over the furniture.

"You wrote that you have repeatedly been sharing your dreams with Potter," Snape said. "I have miserably failed to teach Potter Occlumency even on the most primitive level. But where I have failed, you shall succeed."

Draco shifted uneasily under his gaze. It reminded him of the way Voldemort had been looking at him, saying, _'You have the charm.'_ A sickening feeling stirred somewhere in Draco's stomach. He wished everybody would stop using him.

"He'll never agree. He won't let me anywhere near his mind."

Snape smiled. "You underestimate your talents, Draco, which is a very odd thing for a Malfoy. You have mastered Occlumency perfectly and you can be very persuasive as well. You will set to training Mr Potter, but instead of shielding his mind, you will give Lord Voldemort an unlimited access to all the information stored inside it. This will inevitably deliver the boy to the Dark Lord. In the meantime, I shall improve our current financial situation."

Draco arched an eyebrow at that. He had almost forgotten about his disgraceful destitution.

"All the known Death Eaters are constantly under the government's close watch," Snape went on. "They keep their money in various banks throughout Europe." Tiny dots flickered on the screen of a portable computer. "These are France, Switzerland, Belgium and Britain, of course. Some of these accounts have already been frozen by the Financial Department. However, some remain secret. I have already acquired all the necessary passwords so it is a matter of time till we collect that money. Fake accounts will be created to avert the watchful eyes and transfer the money to the point of our final destination. The money will pass through several banks, be converted a few times and will ultimately end up where we want it to be."

"But how is it possible to take such considerable sum out of the country?" Draco inquired. "Will it not seem suspicious?"

"Not if we convert it to Muggle currency and operate on that level from the start. Euro, perhaps. This by far is the most dangerous instalment in our scam."

Malfoy pursed his lips and mulled over what he'd just heard. It all seemed slick enough to actually pull off.

"How long will this affair take, sir?" he wanted to know.

"About a month, I presume. We had better not hurry. Impatience is a dangerous enemy."

They parted soon, still uncomfortably silent about the pain they both shared. Snape patted Draco's shoulder, filling that simple gesture with such serenity that Draco barely resisted the impulse to fling himself into the older man's arms and cling to him forever. Snape was a refuge. A cold-hearted bastard that had finished the job that Draco himself had failed to do. He had never explained why. In fact, Snape had never brought up that subject again since they fled Hogwarts together. He was hardly the man to be trusted with blind obedience, yet he cared for Draco. He really kept the young one going.

"Draco," said Snape softly. "Under the circumstances I have come to believe it inappropriate for you to call me 'sir' as well as 'Professor'. 'Severus' should do just fine."

Malfoy stared at him, not quite yet ready to believe his ears. He had heard that name coming out of his father's lips so many times. And unwittingly, mimicking his father's smug expression, he said in the same velvetine voice:

"Of course, _Severus_."

* * *

The air was warm and sweet, infused with candle smoke and the scent of wax. Malfoy drowsed on a pile of cushions in the corner of the attic. Potter located him fast enough and stopped at the doorstep, eyeing him questioningly. Malfoy rose gracefully.

Harry's face became purple for a second, and then blood rushed away from his cheeks. Draco snickered. What was the idiot thinking: that Draco planned to burn the house down?

"What's all this about?" Potter asked carefully.

"I just hate that room of yours. Thought I'd rather stay here. And the candles… There isn't enough light." Draco stumbled. "I thought, well… Happy Birthday, Potter."

Harry gaped at him.

"How did you–?"

"Overheard you talking to Weasley once. I had a lame birthday this year. As well as last year, actually. So I thought–."

Potter's eyes blazed bright green behind the spectacles. Draco had never seen any colour so lively, so vibrant that would associate itself with any object – and he vividly envisioned grazing fields, blades of emerald grass swaying in the wind.

The new sensation roused within his body was oddly exciting.

"I have a little something here for you," said Draco.

He collected a small box wrapped up in foil and handed it to Potter. At least the other's grimace of sheer astonishment was worth it. Harry unwrapped the paper and peered inside the box with caution. The curiosity reflected on his face enchanted Draco.

A small yet heavy, perfectly round pebble rested inside the box. Harry weighed it on his palm and giggled.

"It's a rock."

"Yes."

"It's a street pebble. There's lots of them in the backyard."

Draco grinned. He found the pebble in the morning while walking back to the Dursleys' from Snape's hiding place. Attracted by its remarkable form (the stone looked exactly like some seaside shingle), he took it. In his opinion, it was a gift worthy of Harry Potter: simple yet unusual – and just a tad insane.

"It's a stone you can throw at Voldemort's head and, hopefully, knock his brains out."

Harry burst out laughing. Soon he was choking, tears in his eyes, coughing and gasping for air. Draco leaned against the wall, watching him tranquilly.

"Congratulations, Malfoy!" Potter gasped. "You've just made a decent joke without actually insulting anybody. Except Voldemort, I'm afraid, but he should forgive us for that… given the circumstances."

The night progressed. Draco managed to unlock the Dursleys' sideboard and found a bottle of fine red wine there. Potter whimpered quietly at that: what if Uncle Vernon found out? Draco shrugged carelessly: so what? After all, they'd be gone in the morning.

They gulped the bittersweet liquor straight from the bottle. They walked in circles around each other slowly, staggering, giggling, toasting. Sometimes Harry's hand grazed his, and Draco would shiver. With a long gasp, he would sway forth, and Potter would step back, intimidated, and they'd start their improvised 'dance' all over again.

And then Harry accidentally dropped the bottle. The wine spilt over the floor. They sank on their knees; their fingers met as both boys tried to lift the bottle. And it just kept rolling between them. Foreheads touching, they scrutinized each other. Draco savoured the sweet, pungent scent of alcohol on Potter's breath. Just being around him was intoxicating. In the way it should not have been.

"Trying to use Legilimency on me?" Harry scoffed.

"You wouldn't know it if I was," Draco whispered.

He could feel Potter's discomfort building. It amused him. He leaned in even closer. He flicked the tip of his tongue over Potter's lips and watched enthusiastically as the boy's cheeks flushed crimson. He wanted to pull away but Draco nailed his hands to the floor. He nipped at Harry's lower lip gently, causing the other to produce a muffled groan.

"You know," Draco whispered tentatively, "now that you've mentioned Legilimency… I'm a highly accomplished Occlumens. I could teach you if you like."

"Why do you think I need it?" Harry inquired, short of breath.

Another quick flick of the tongue over the outline of his lips. Potter drew his breath in harshly.

"Well, if you don't, then… it's a pity because I'm just tempted to share my knowledge."

Harry drew forward as if by accident and breathed against Draco's lips, "Why do this… for _me_?"

"Let's just say I've decided to do something selfless. I will," Draco smiled enigmatically, "_cooperate_."

The final step of his plan was to rise negligently and walk out before Potter could give a well thought out reject. However, the other forestalled him.

"I will consider your offer."

As soon as he was gone, Draco bumped his head into the wall, cursing. Goddammit! What was so special about that 'speccy git' that made him go head over heels? His addiction was similar to any drug addiction: he couldn't get enough of Potter, simply being around him, feeling his skin in a series of accidental contacts, swaying in the sound waves of his voice, a bit husky, rough all the time, and hesitant, and almost always on edge…

Draco's hand reached for his crotch unwittingly. Sometimes the tension was just too much…

* * *

In the puffs of chilly fog there lay a quiet village, surrounded by rich forests and dusty ribbons of by-roads. The subterranean green of the leaves seemed almost black beneath the greyish dome of the sky. A river purled somewhere out of sight in the woods; its melodic ripple moving through the air.

The shape of a house emerged from the fog. It was a small stone cottage, hardly a wonder among those scattered in the valleys of north. Still, an odd melancholic aura surrounded it, saturated every stone, every tile of the roof cover, every blade of grass in the wild orchard that bloomed behind the picket fence. A thousand years ago a great wizard found this empty hollow which had for some unknown reason captured his heart.

They called it Godric's Hollow.

Puffs of smoke danced atop the chimney pipe. Light flickered behind the curtains in the house. Night was drawing on.

"So this is where everything began," Draco whispered, struck with awe.

Harry pretended to miss his words.

A Muggle housekeeper let them in, smiling welcomingly. She had led a solitary life for a very long time and had little joys save gossiping with local gossips. No wonder she was exultant to receive guests. At first, a very polite girl arrived, accompanied by a ginger-haired young man, and now – two more visitors. Mrs Peters prepared rooms for them (these two were friends with the previous two and the entire group had paid in advance) and sat down for a new portion of fresh rumours from London.

Late at night Draco left Potter, engaged in a heated conversation with his friends. The night was warm and smelled with light rain, damp grass and old age.

Under the light of pallid moon that rolled out of the cloud blanket, Draco fell on his knees and pondered Snape's assignment deeply. He knew Potter was having an occasional insight into his own dreams. It maddened and frightened Draco at the same time.

He lay flat on the ground, his clothes soaking with dew. He emptied his mind of all emotions. All the thoughts rolled away. Snape had taught him how to deliberately access someone else's mind without personal contact. Draco chanted a meditation spell and muttered under his breath, "_Legilimens!_"

Whether it was his dream or Potter's, Draco could not tell. Everything went pitch black as if all the light in the universe had somehow been sucked out. Draco walked a thin line of frost that appeared right in front of him and vanished behind him with each taken step. Sweat beaded up on his forehead.

Potter came in a flash of green fire. As he looked at Draco, his wondrous eyes changed to red, and he slithered menacingly, "There you are, my double-faced servant. Why don't you stop fooling around and do your job?"

Draco grabbed Potter by the shoulders and shook him brutally. He kept shaking him until that vicious glimmer seeped away from his eyes. Draco was astounded. He manipulated Potter with such ease that it almost sickened him. He had never had such power over a living being.

Draco drew forward and kissed Potter. The Gryffindor tried to pull away but Draco urged him to return the kiss, and finally Potter complied. 'It's just a dream,' Malfoy thought, 'it means nothing.'

He licked the hollow on Potter's neck and was rewarded with a beguiled sigh. There was nothing embarrassing about the situation. In the dream, Draco loved the taste of Potter's skin, the touch that made Potter lose control.

If it wasn't for the warning spell, Draco would never have noticed a ghostly form that appeared to his left. It was Weaselby. His face was greenish, tinted with grey, water dripped down his chin as if he were drowned.

"I know you," he whispered in a grave voice.

Draco jumped away from Potter, his heart beating wildly. But to his astonishment, the ghost's accusatory gaze was not directed at him.

"I know you're up to something," Weasley went on. "I'll be watching you."

Potter's eyes flared crimson again. The dream reality shattered. With a cry of anguish, Draco woke up. For a moment he could feel a heart pounding and could not define whose heart it was.

He returned to the cottage, drunk on shadows that crawled after him and the breeze blowing from the river. He staggered as he walked. Blurry as a dull stain on dark cloth, Potter's face flashed before him. The boy appeared unaffected, but for a second Draco sensed Potter's fear wash over him in a crushing wave.

"Teach me," said Potter.


	7. The End Of The World

**Title**: "Cui Prodest"

**Author**: Shaitanah

**Rating**: hard R (overall)

**Timeline**: post-HBP

**Summary**: When Draco seeks refuge in the Order, Harry is assigned to protect him. Big mistake, that is. + A flashback on Draco's past and the turning point of Draco's present.

**Pairings**: Harry/Draco, minor Harry/Ginny, minor Ron/Hermione (in various chapters), etc.

**Disclaimer**: _'Harry Potter'_ belongs to JKR. And I have nothing else to do but play with her characters. Yeah, right!

**Special thanks**: to my beta Lady Domino.

**A/N**: Thank you so much for your reviews! They make my day!

* * *

**Chapter 7**

**INTERLUDE**

**_The End Of The World_**

_They tossed him down on the floor. The cloaked figure in front of him remained frozen. Draco whimpered. A hard rain of blows poured over him. Blood splattered from his nose. Bruised and broken, he could do nothing but moan quietly, wishing for it to stop._

'No, no, no, please, don't! Stop! Stop!'

_Everyone backed away all of a sudden. Draco gasped. A husky voice uttered, 'Crucio!' and then the boy screamed. Excruciating pain pierced every limb, paralyzing him. His throat became raw, he wheezed and writhed but the pain wouldn't go away, would never go away. He wished he could just die._

_Somebody was screaming, begging them to stop. That pitiful shrill voice was his own. Draco's bones creaked. He thought they would break._

_Another charge of pain shot through his body, exploded in his brain, traveled along his spine in prickling sparks. Draco screamed again, at the top of his lungs. He didn't care what would happen to him afterwards. Only 'now' existed, only this moment – when pain ruled his world, ground him into oblivion. He was falling into the vast abyss, driven mad with fear and agony._

_Pain… pain… pain… Bright flashes through the dense night. _

_A loud voice in the dark. Draco couldn't scream anymore. His body went limp and he didn't feel a thing._

_Someone bade his tormentors to stop at once. The voice was vaguely familiar. Draco wheezed plaintively and passed out, cherishing the hope he would never have to wake up to face another day._

_But Draco did wake up and he hardly resisted the urge to scream again. His throat went numb; it hurt as if scratched by a thousand claws. Voldemort himself was looming over him. Draco wanted to sit up, but the Dark Lord pushed him down persistently._

"_My lord," Draco whispered hoarsely, happy nonetheless that his voice hadn't abandoned him at all. "I have failed you."_

"_That you have," Voldemort nodded gravely._

_His eyes flashed like sunbeams reflected in two drops of blood. Transfixed, Draco didn't dare move._

"_I have decided to grant you a chance to redeem yourself," Voldemort went on._

"_Thank you… Master…"_

_Another figure emerged from the shadows. Clad entirely in black, it waited patiently for Voldemort's command. Draco held his breath._

"_Regrettably I can no longer use Severus as my agent in the Order of the Phoenix. You will take his place."_

_Draco bit his tongue, afraid to say anything that would enrage his lord. And even in this pathetic state he had lots of comments ready to spring forth from his mouth. This idea was even more insane than his assignment to kill Dumbledore._

"_You will go crawling to Saint Potter, begging for forgiveness. You will tell him you did everything to prevent the old coot's murder. According to Severus, Potter could have witnessed it. Then he knows that you hesitated. We shall use your failure to our advantage."_

"_He'll never believe me," Draco murmured._

"_Oh, he will. You can be very persuasive, my young servant. Use your charms."_

_His robes rustled as Voldemort rose and backed away. The figure in black helped Draco up on his feet. Someone was talking; the meaning of the words escaped Draco. Dazed, he allowed the man to lead him away. Snape seated him on the couch and shook him lightly._

"_Draco. Draco, can you hear me? Draco, listen to me very carefully: this is your last chance to survive."_

"_Why do you care?" the boy asked weakly._

"_Does it matter?" The vein in Snape's temple was swelling. "I promised your mother that I'd take care of you." _

"_So what? You've accomplished your mission. The Unbreakable Vow is no longer active. You're free to go."_

_For a moment it seemed as if Snape would slap him. Draco winced but the older man didn't move. His voice came out hoarse and cool:_

"_Haven't you ever for one second wondered if I really cared? Maybe I just do. Now, do you want to live or not?"_

_Draco nodded faintly. The air around him shimmered with heat, he felt like he was sitting on live coals. His breath came in short gasps and he eyed Snape with wide-open, watery eyes._

"_Good," his former professor said hastily. "I am, fortunately, the only wizard whom the Dark Lord has ever been able to infiltrate into Dumbledore's Order. Therefore I shall instruct you. You will do exactly as I say and you will have to trust me on this. Is clear in every way?"_

"_Yes, sir," whispered Draco; his words were barely audible._

"_Do you trust me, Draco?"_

_Malfoy's vision became double. Worn out with nausea, he lay back and tried to concentrate. Snape's question rang in his ears, floated in the air, almost tangible._

_Snape decided to tread on his corns._

"_Malfoy honour." The last resort. "Remember your legacy. Will you allow it to fade that easily? No trace of the dignity of yore left. Glory gone like morning mist. You do not want that, do you?"_

_The image of his father, once a lordly and respectable nobleman, now a mere nameless prisoner on the dreaded Azkaban fortress, flashed through his mind. His mother, a sophisticated lady, the mistress of a wealthy home, was in five minutes a near-widow stripped of everything. Their grand house, that shameless display of luxury and refined taste in every piece of furniture… gone. His own future. He still retained illusions of grandeur and stable position in high society._

_But that was just a frail dream…_

"_Do you trust me?" Snape pressed him for answer._

"_I want to, sir. But he trusted you. And I can still see his face. He had put his faith in you."_

_Draco trailed off helplessly._

"_Who are you talking about?"_

"_D-Dum… the Headmaster."_

'You don't know what I'm capable of. You don't know what I've already done!'

_Time froze. Everything ceased to exist. Draco inhaled, and saw, and felt that fateful night. The wand shaking in his hand… Hoarse laughter from the Carrow siblings. Snape's black eyes flaring with hate and fierce determination. The green flash hitting the old man flat in the chest._

'Severus, please!

'Avada Kedavra!'

_Draco had despised the old man but he had never wished him dead. Dumbledore was right: he hadn't had his heart in that business. Draco doubted he'd ever be able to wipe that night from his mind._

"_What happened in the Tower was strictly between the Headmaster and me," Snape stated coldly. "I'll ask you again and I shan't repeat it anymore: do you trust me?"_

_Draco closed his eyes, swallowing back the tears._

"_Yes."

* * *

_

_Time went by. Draco remained in Riddle Manor as he was meant to until his wounds would have healed. He had no meals although his lord was generous; he received no visitors although his mother clearly attempted to contact him. He was kept lying in bed, staring at the blank wall opposite him, cold and distant as the very stone foundation of this house of tragedy where his bed now stood._

_Snape came every day, spending hours beside him. Sometimes the older wizard kept quiet. Sometimes he tried to talk some sense into his foolish young student. "I cannot allow you to kill yourself," he would admonish. "You're not the first and the last victim. Come to think of it, you are no victim at all."_

_Draco hated him for these words but didn't bother to show his reaction. One day Snape simply brought something with him. It was a big rectangular mirror without a frame; Snape put it right on the bed at Draco's feet to give him a spectacular view of a person half-sitting on the bed. Draco looked at the person indifferently, then drew forward slightly. The young man's face was sallow, framed by tousled, untidy hair of indefinite color. His lean form could barely stay upright. His hands were shaking. A baggy t-shirt hung loose on him. Draco shut his eyes and only then realized the person in the mirror was himself._

_Days of training followed. Snape taught him new curses and incantations, made him brew new potions, and when the night came, he would softly chant the spells to keep the nightmares at bay. Draco lost count of days. Finally he began to talk again. He asked for food, he trimmed his hair, he took short walks in the ghostly park around Riddle Manor. He rarely saw the others except Snape, who always followed like a dark shadow behind him._

_The day Draco left Riddle Manor it rained. Drops of water covered his cloak as he stood opposite the grim house of the Black family in London, contemplating its dimly lit windows. Actually the house was safely hidden under a number of charms but Snape instructed Draco how to see it. He could see everything, including black shapes behind the curtains. Someone was fussing inside, life pulsing vividly in that imposing ancient building. The life that Draco missed._

"_We shall play our own scenario," Snape whispered in his ear. "You don't have to answer either to them or to the Dark Lord. You will have it your way."_

"_Or your way," Malfoy said doubtfully. _

"_Doesn't matter. What's in my best interest is also in yours."_

_Draco nodded curtly and started across the street towards the parade entrance. He had heard enough about the Blacks' old residence for the past weeks. What would it be like to enter it finally? He plucked up his courage and knocked._

_Everything was silent for a few tantalizingly long moments; then the door cracked open and a plump face of a woman appeared. Draco squinted and realized with a start he was looking at Weaselby's mother._

_And then he wheezed pitifully, "Help!" and sank down on the porch. _

_He felt he had lost his consciousness for real. He was taken inside the house despite somebody's fervent protests (he strongly suspected it was a Weasley; well, at least, one of them), and then somebody tended to him as if he were their own, and hushed voices spoke above him, blurred faces span in a whirlwind. Draco gave in to his make-believe exhaustion and passed out again. He knew that the game would begin as soon as he woke up.

* * *

_

To Draco's amusement, the first Occlumency lesson proved to be quite interesting. Potter resisted as hard as he could, making Draco waste a lot more energy on penetrating his thoughts than he would have wished to. But it was definitely worth it. Potter's mind was a maze of chaos, indistinct voices buzzing all the time, dreams and half-formed thoughts circling around like little flags. Draco had a lot of fun during the improvised duel of minds that took place during the lesson.

After that Potter was completely worn out. He lay in the mud just where he had fallen a few minutes earlier, gasping for breath. Draco squatted beside him, thinking: '_Well, at least that was much better than Snape had warned me.'_

"I'm all right!" Potter breathed.

Draco grinned. "I didn't ask."

Potter snorted and staggered to his feet. He strode towards the river, pulling off his filthy shirt, saying he needed time on his own to sort things through. Draco didn't attempt to stop him. Frankly speaking, he was fed up with Potter's presence, too.

But he didn't walk away.

He watched Potter from the shadows, not knowing why the hell he was doing it. Moonlight caressed the young man's skin; it looked creamy and flawless. Everything about him was perfect at night. His bare chest heaved thrillingly with every inhale. The water splashed quietly as he dipped his sinewy arms into it, washing the mud off of his t-shirt.

He got up, rolled the t-shirt and wrung it out, then hung it over the branch. He warmed his numb limbs up in liquid movements, pacing along the river bank. Draco observed every detail of his fine body, down to the swelling at his fly, with a smile of amusement.

Potter looked around, made sure no one was near, and undressed quickly. Draco bit his tongue in order to contain an exultant exclamation as the other leapt into the water.

Harry threw his head back and floated on his back unashamedly. The water was perfectly still, unperturbed by his intrusion. Draco made his way towards the bank, taking his time. He sat beneath the tree and feasted his eyes upon Harry's leisured swim. His hand came across the rough fabric amidst the grass. Potter's jeans. Draco's lips curved into a secretive smile. He fished the wand out of the pocket of the jeans and with one flourish made them disappear. No need for clothes.

Harry emerged from the water, ruffled his wet hair and froze as he noticed Malfoy's studious gaze directed at him. For a moment silence hung heavy between them. Then Potter drew near and examined the ground in search of his trousers. Draco smiled wryly.

"That's not funny," Harry said briskly. "Give me back my clothes."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Draco didn't bother to keep the anticipation out of his voice. Let the other feel the need. He stood up and waited for the distance between them to shorten. Potter drilled him with a cross gaze as they drew close, as there was only a few centimetres between them, no distance at all...

Draco sucked at his lips with growing passion. He deepened the kiss, pouring his lust into it, and he got Potter to react, to slip his tongue into Draco's and caress his cheek insecurely. His fingers burnt against Draco's skin.

They broke the kiss, swinging into the dizziness of this first shy, deceptive endearment.

"You… want me?" whispered Harry.

"Want you!?" Slightly embarrassed by the shrillness of his outcry, Draco looked downward, then back into the emerald eyes before him. "I'm in a hell of desire for you! Never thought you were so blind."

Guessing whether Potter would finally yield, Malfoy wondered how much of what he'd just said was true. Damn! Every single word of it. He yearned every touch, every small sound escaping Potter's lips. His hunger weakened him.

Potter sank down on his knees abruptly, pulling Malfoy with him.

"I am," he whispered, trembling slightly. "I never dared trust you. Never wanted to."

He kissed Draco roughly, parting his lips, drawing the breath out of him. Surprised by such boldness, Malfoy drew back and lost his balance. He tumbled backwards and lay on the ground as Potter's weight came down full length above him, as he felt his clothes torn away, Potter's nakedness against his own. Potter lavishing him with kisses, going down until he finally surrounded Draco with a wet warmth, sucking greedily. Draco was drowning in that vibrant sensation. He could only think helplessly: 'This didn't go as planned.' It was but the last coherent glimmer of thought; afterwards – only Potter devouring him, gratifying him with his tongue in a paroxysm of unexpected passion. Draco gritted his teeth, swallowing the cry, and then fell back, released, panting and stunned as his plans crushed within one instant.

He lay still for some time, tête-à-tête with his confusion. The first timid stars twinkled above. For once there was the semblance of peace.

Draco skewed his eyes upon Potter who had resumed looking for his jeans. The other youth looked away uncomfortably. It dawned upon Draco that it might have been just too fast for him. His own impulses came as a shock to him.

Draco wrapped his arms around Potter and dragged him down to the ground. His body felt cold, still bearing the chill of water. Draco nuzzled his neck, nipped at the skin gently. With a quiet gasp Harry gave in to him. Draco was inside of him and he rode him brutally, and Harry felt alive, and hot, and pounding in his hand. With every thrust, with every stroke they drew nearer to the verge of pleasure and pain, the line that hardly ever existed at all. Harry moaned. They climaxed simultaneously, and it was over in an instant, that dazzling overpowering sensation. Harry shuddered beneath him.

Draco fell to one side and closed his eyes, exhausted. He felt a soft nudge, and then a hand glided over his sweaty skin, stroking it gently. He saw a faded scar in the form of letters carved over bluish veins, 'I must not tell lies'. Such humiliating atrocity appalled him, although he'd never have seen a great deal in it before.

Harry laid his head on Draco's chest so that he could feel his heart beating. And then there came a shower of kisses, generous and loving, and Draco's mind failed to comprehend how it was possible at all. Potter despised him. Potter had caused his father to go to prison. Potter was his enemy. Potter had always wanted _this_…

Harry flicked his tongue over the Mark emblazoned on Draco's wrist. Draco shuddered, gasping. The touch must have scorched Potter's lips for the youth jerked away for a second, smiled and licked the Mark again.

Draco shifted and planted a searing kiss upon Potter's infamous scar. The boy groaned, overcome by pleasure and shock.

'Guess I still have a lot to learn,' thought Draco, smiling. He knew that Potter liked it when he smiled that simple, un-Malfoyish smile, so he smiled for Potter.


	8. Scars

**Title**: "Cui Prodest"

**Author**: Shaitanah

**Rating**: R

**Timeline**: post-HBP

**Summary**: When Draco seeks refuge in the Order, Harry is assigned to protect him. Big mistake, that is. + Harry tries to sort things out Please R&R!

**Pairings**: Harry/Draco, minor Harry/Ginny, minor Ron/Hermione (in various chapters), etc.

**Disclaimer**: _'__Harry Potter'_ belongs to JKR. The song is 'Hurt' by Nine Inch Nails (radio edit).

**Special thanks**: to my brilliant beta Lady Domino.

**A/N**: Initially I planned Spinner's End sequence to be the orphanage where Tom Riddle grew up but I chose Snape's house, after all, since Snape is ultimately more important to this story than Voldemort.

**A/N2**: I couldn't find an epigraph for this one so this is a song-chapter just like the first one. Harry needs time to understand what had happened in the previous chapter; I think this song goes well with it.

**Chapter 8**

_**Scars**_

_I hurt myself today_

_T__o see if I still feel. _

_I focus on the pain, _

_the only thing that's real…_

_T__he needle tears a hole, _

_T__he old familiar sting, _

_T__ry to kill it all away, _

_B__ut I remember everything._

-------------------

Mrs Peters wound up an old record player; the moment the dusty record was in motion sweet music jingled in the air, slightly distorted by buzzing. A smile played upon the old lady's lips. She watched her young guests with unconcealed pleasure. It was pouring with rain outside. Draco, recently back from the village, ran his hand through his wet, wire-like hair and took a seat by the fireplace to keep himself warm. Ron and Harry were discussing something in an undertone, and Hermione helped Mrs Peters out with tea.

"Oh, I used to play this record a lot back in those days when old Mr Peters was alive," the old lady prattled cheerfully. "We used to dance to it. And when the lodgers came, they would dance too. We never had a quiet evening if the lodgers were present. Mr Peters could be so merry!"

The old lady sighed; wallowing in bittersweet memories, then gave her full attention to Hermione as the only girl present in the room.

"I don't suppose young ladies spend as much time learning dances as they did in my time. It is perfectly understandable since there are other ways of making acquaintance–."

Hermione cast her eyes down, blushing slightly.

"I must admit Miss Granger was quite a sensation at the Yule Ball a few years ago," someone interjected.

Harry was astounded to realize it was Malfoy speaking. Hermione turned to face him at once. They had already told Mrs Peters they had all attended the same school, a sort of privileged coeducation institute, so there were no questions about a ball whatsoever. Mrs Peters looked at Hermione, amused.

Malfoy rose and walked gracefully up to Hermione. She eyed him with poorly disguised hostility.

"How I lament the passing of those days," he uttered, "where women used their feet to dance and their mouths not at all. The problem with women nowadays is when ideas do not come they find words very handy."

"A bold judgment, coming from a man who can barely tell a lady from a street beggar and wouldn't hesitate to show the latter her place," Hermione retorted, mimicking his old-fashioned tone.

Malfoy came closer. For a moment Harry thought he would hit the girl or at least hiss some hideous insult, but Draco bowed and gave her his hand. Hermione curtsied, uncertain, and accepted the invitation. The dance was slow, elaborate, filled with unexpected, agonizing passion. Harry's eyes were fixed upon Malfoy, his well-built shape moving to the rhythm of the music, meeting and parting with his partner in a series of intricate steps.

Mrs Peters applauded gleefully.

"Oh, now I remember a young couple who used to live here fifteen or sixteen years ago. Wonderful people! They occupied the last cottage closer to the woods."

Harry forced himself to look away from the dancers and pricked up his ears.

"His name, I believe, was James," the old housekeeper mused. "And hers… Oh, goodness, it started with an 'L'. Alas, old age."

She shrugged apologetically.

"Please, try to remember," whispered Harry softly, not sure she even heard him. It wasn't necessary; he knew her name, but the need to hear it spoken was just overwhelming.

"Lilia, perhaps? No. Lillian… Oh, no-no-no. If only Mr Peters was here, he would have remembered! It was a flower name." Her eyes darted to the window where in the streaks of rain her orchard could be barely seen. There were few flowers there but it seemed to have given Mrs Peters an idea. "Of course! Ah me! Her name was Lily. She had the most beautiful smile I've ever seen."

Harry's heart went flutter.

"And the young man looked exactly like you," Mrs Peters went on. "That's what got me thinking. I should say that when you first came in I thought I saw a ghost! Remarkable likeness!"

Harry laughed humorlessly. By that time the dance was already finished. Malfoy leaned into Hermione and murmured something very quietly. Her cheeks flushed.

"Please excuse me," she blurted out and ran away hastily. Ron cried: "Hermione!" and stormed after her.

Harry watched them leave with a lost gaze and turned back to the old lady.

"Unfortunately they didn't stay long. Such a tragedy. There was a fire in their cottage. A dreadful explosion, too. I'm not aware of the details and what does it matter now?" Mrs Peters sighed and shook her head. "I pray for their souls, you know. Lord knows they were a wonderful couple. And he looked just like you, dear James did."

She patted Harry's shoulder affectionately and retired. The rain tapped at the window-panes and the music played on. Malfoy was combing his wet hair in front of the looking-glass.

"Who do you think you are, to embarrass poor Hermione like that?" said Harry, trying to sound displeased, but his sardonic tone gave his amusement away.

"We are peas in a pod, Potter," Malfoy parried, swallowing the laughter. "I see you've been fruitfully interrogating the old lady about your family."

"I have not! She started it."

Draco smirked, then turned off the recorder and blew the dust off the cover of the old piano. His fingers flitted over the keys and enticing music poured into the air. Harry leaned against the wall, folded his arms over the chest and listened with his eyes closed.

"Do you ever wish you'd known your father?"

Harry snorted. "What kind of a question is that? Of course I do! And Mum, too. I can't possibly remember them. At least…not in a way that counts as a true memory."

Draco pressed the key. A low sound rippled through the air.

"D'you ever wish you'd had any siblings?" it was Harry's turn to ask.

"What, you mean, be like the Weasley bunch? No, thanks!" Malfoy was quiet for a moment, then added quietly: "I could have if their first born had been a girl. Father wanted an heir. But since I was a boy, Mother said she wouldn't have any more children."

Harry shrugged. It was not a really pleasant thing to mull over.

"Sometimes I envy Ron," he confessed.

His face contorted with disdain, Malfoy drew out: "I don't know… To have more brothers than there are beds in the house, more mouths to feed than you can afford, second-hand clothes passing from older brother to younger… Not my idea of a happy family."

Harry looked away to conceal a grin. He was only glad Ron didn't hear that. Malfoy stirred on the piano stool.

"I used to have scars from long hours of training, all over my body. They were everywhere. Scratches, Stinging Hex marks, bruises. There were times I could hardly move but he wouldn't let me spend all day in bed. He would turn me out into the pouring rain again until I could barely breathe. I hated him for it. Now I'm grateful."

"It sounds horrible," Harry whispered.

Malfoy made himself look up at the young man standing close to him. His glazed eyes were full of tears. It brought up the memory of him after he had learnt about his father's suicide.

"You don't know what it feels like," he whispered. "To have a father. And you can only dream of what you've never had. I hated him, and loved him, and feared, and respected him. And now I wish him alive if only to hate him again. You wouldn't understand."

"Draco," Harry said softly. The usual 'Don't call me that!' silenced him.

Harry sat on the floor and threw his arms around Draco's waist. He forced the blond down and kissed him gently. Draco smiled wearily.

--------------------

_W__hat have I become? _

_M__y sweetest friend, _

_E__veryone I know _

_G__oes away in the end. _

_Y__ou could have it all, _

_M__y empire of dirt. _

_I__ will let you down, _

_I__ will make you hurt._

-----------------

Harry hated the idea of leaving Malfoy alone but he couldn't risk taking him along for the trip back to London. And, frankly speaking, Harry wanted to have a break from the complexity that a relationship with Malfoy was.

"Keep an eye on him, will you?" he winked at Hermione, when they stood at the porch of Mrs Peters's cottage, saying good-bye. Hermione nodded and hugged him tightly.

Harry and Ron walked slowly through the village towards the railway. It was still very early. The sky was rippling with waves of pastel blue, light clouds floating casually along the stream of the wind.

"No, have you seen it?" Ron blew up all of a sudden. "Unbelievable! You can't say I'm exactly the most timid person in the world, can you? But lately I can't say a word to her without wishing I would fall through the ground. I feel so weak!"

"Who are you talking about?" Harry asked.

"Hermione, of course!"

"Oh, Ron…" Harry drew out helplessly. "It's not that bad. Ginny was afraid to speak to me for years! And now, look at her! She's braver than I am. And Cho? I acted like such a wimp. This is only natural."

"It's serious with you and Ginny, isn't it?" Ron murmured insecurely. "Cos if it's not, I'm warning you… Don't get me wrong, mate, but I saw you with Malfoy. It's like you become a different person when you're with him. If you want to–."

Harry almost didn't listen to him. The train hooted in the distance. The streets were greyish, washed by rain that poured through the night. Occasional passers-by hurried to and fro. The dense smell of fresh bread floated in the air; the bakery had just opened. Harry mulled over the reasons that made him leave Grimmauld Place. Not to endanger the Order with his presence that was like a time bomb ready to go off. Not to endanger Ginny. To be free, uncontrolled by the Ministry that was only waiting for a chance to set its traps.

Ron had asked him why he hadn't visited the graves of his parents yet, though they'd long since arrived in Godric's Hollow. The truth was Harry just couldn't force himself to go there. Mrs Peters once mentioned where their graves were but Harry just _could not_. He thought too much about everything that had taken place in his miserable life, re-evaluating various events and his own point of view.

Suddenly the meaning of Ron's words reached his mind. He stopped dead and glared at his friend furiously.

"WHAT!? Me and Malfoy!? Are you out of your mind, Ron!?"

"I mean, I don't mind it if you're like that!" Ron struggled to defend himself. "If you want to be with… well, you know… Just not Malfoy."

"I'm not like _that_!" Harry cut off. This felt extremely awkward – they rarely discussed such personal stuff before. And Harry knew for sure: he didn't _want_ to discuss _Draco_ with _Ron_. He looked at his friend grimly and drawled: "I want to be with Ginny, that's that. Now let's forget about it."

-------------------

_I__ wear my crown of thorns _

_O__n my liar's chair, _

_F__ull of broken thoughts, _

_I__ cannot repair. _

_B__eneath the stain of time _

_T__he feeling disappears. _

_Y__ou are someone else, _

_I__ am still right here._

----------------

Days ran forth like the Hogwarts express hurrying to deliver the naïve first-years to their doom at school – fast-paced, impetuous but oddly peaceful. Harry contacted the Order and even managed to say a few words to Ginny (though he was rather displeased that she had accompanied her father to a meeting that was supposed to be tête-à-tête). He dropped by the abandoned orphanage where his arch-enemy had been brought up. He visited all the places he'd found on Dumbledore's list (yes, Dumbledore had actually made a list for him which brought a rush of warm sadness to his heart). Finally there was one last place left for him to visit.

His heart fluttered as he made his way down the dimly lit street. Ron trod carefully beside him, looking around attentively. The street was empty and quiet.

"Riddle's diary," Ron was saying. "Check. Gaunt's ring. Check. Slytherin's locket. We have yet to make sure but I think, check. That leaves us Hufflepuff's cup or something from Gryffindor. Gotta be the sword."

"Or the Hat," Harry muttered thoughtfully. "We'll deal with it later. Both relics are in the possession of McGonagall now, she'll keep them safe. I'll talk to her later when I decide she's trustworthy enough to tell her about what Dumbledore and I have been up to."

Ron eyed him with disbelief.

They reached the last house standing apart at the very end of the street. Its brick walls seemed almost black in the dark. The wind carried the smell of the polluted river which flowed in the nearby – so unlike the clear blue stream rippling by the grove in Godric's Hollow. This was a place of desolation, the last known hideout of a notorious criminal.

Harry drew his wand and pointed it at the lock. Something clicked and they were now able to enter the house. Every room inside it was relatively small, the walls lined closely with books, everything in the state of frightening pedantic order save for a thick layer of dust that covered every surface. Harry explored every inch, throwing books off the shelves, looking through the pages short of tearing them out.

"I'm afraid to ask what you want to find…" Ron whispered. "It looks like a lair of a giant spider. Let's leave this place."

"I'll stay for the night," Harry answered. Ron gaped at him. Before he could protest, Harry explained grimly: "I finally understand the point of those studies with Dumbledore. I should get to know my enemies better."

"And spending the night at Snape's place might help?"

"Why are you so jumpy? He's not here!"

Ron mumbled something grumpily and brought the question up no more.

At night another dream seized Harry and refused to let go. He struggled, writhing on the bed where his hated Potions Master had probably slept before. The bed was suddenly hard as rock and damp with blood and sweat – and that blood splashed around him, stained his hands, dripped down his chin.

"_It was a pleasure to kill your filthy Mudblood mother!" a gruff voice spat at him. "It will be an equal pleasure to rip you apart, boy!"_

Harry lashed out at the bleared shape that stood before him. He felt his nails dig into the flesh, tearing it, damaging, making deep furrows in it. It was damp, soft like a sponge, decaying.

"Can you hear me?" the voice kept repeating, "Can you hear me?" driving him insane.

Harry shrieked at the invisible jester. But over and over again, it would laugh and ask: "Can you hear me?"

Harry was falling.

'Can you hear me? Potter!'

He awoke with a start, crying softly as the reality washed over him, drowning out the awe of dreams with its tender twilight, the muffled sounds of TV flowing from the next room, its smell of sweat and starch and the rustling of leaves outside the window.

Harry wetted his parched lips, still panting, and then he heard the voice calling him again, and he knew it was Malfoy speaking within his mind.

"Yeah, yeah, I can hear you," Harry answered wearily. "Happy?"

'_No_! You were not supposed to! It means your shield is too weak. I can see into your mind, Potter, shut it immediately!'

Harry pressed his face to the pillow to smother a groan. The last thing he wanted was a hostile Malfoy invading his poor mind. Especially _now_.

'You had another nightmare,' Malfoy stated.

"You're such an acute observer!"

Harry rolled on his back and threw his hands up to his face. His vision was still unclear. He lowered his hands and gasped: his forearms were dotted with bleeding scratch marks. They covered every inch of his skin, colliding with each other, blending into a violent mixture of red.

Harry felt his connection to Malfoy weaken and used this chance to cut it off completely. If there were any protests, he didn't hear them. His heart skipped a beat. He rushed to the bathroom, ignoring Ron's worried call, and hastily washed the blood off. It hurt to touch the marks. Harry rubbed the skin fiercely; under the cool touch of water it became sickly white. Ron burst into the bathroom and stared at Harry, dumb-struck.

"What's that!?"

Harry could only look at him, terrified. And then he whimpered quietly. Ron touched his hand and lifted it to have a better look at the fingers. Blood coated them, dried under the nails.

"Those are self-inflicted, mate!" Weasley gasped. His blue eyes became huge as he drilled his friend with a horrified gaze.

Harry stormed out of the bathroom and paced about the room for some time, trying to recollect what had been happening in his dream. He had fought Voldemort; he had scratched him, but somehow the marks reflected on his own skin. The blood welled up again.

Harry tore a medical bandage to narrow widths and wrapped around his forearms. The pressure disturbed the wounds, a slight tingling that kept reminding him of their presence, but it was better than nothing, and Harry hardly wanted to get landed with sepsis.

------------------

_W__hat have I become? _

_M__y sweetest friend, _

_E__veryone I know _

_G__oes away in the end. _

_Y__ou could have it all, _

_M__y empire of dirt… _

_I__ will let you down, _

_I__ will make you hurt._

----------------

That night remained a white night till the end. The first pinkish glow of morning caught Harry reading Dumbledore's old manuscripts on the sofa in the drawing room. Snape's house was as dark and unfriendly to the strangers as its owner.

Ron lowered himself on the sofa and opened a bundle which lay on his knees. Harry skewed his eyes upon its contents without much interest. A small golden cup with finely wrought handles rested carefully in the nest of dirty cloth. The cup was splintered, the gold dimmed and blackened in places; nevertheless, the relic was still recognizably. Harry held his breath. He grasped a piece of parchment depicting a detailed sketch and raised it above the cup to compare.

"This is it," Ron breathed in admiration. "Hufflepuff's cup! But then… Harry, then it means that the Horcrux's already been destroyed, right?"

"Apparently so." Harry frowned. This didn't fit in: why would Snape destroy his master's piece of soul?

He laid his hand on the cup reverently. All its magic had long since seeped away, leaving it no more than an empty, cracked shell. Harry pursed his lips, overwhelmed by sudden bitterness: _he_ should have destroyed it. He might have even looked that piece of soul in the face as he would have cast a spell to banish it from the world of the living.

Ron gripped his hand and held it tight. Harry looked at him, dazed, then wrapped the cup up tightly and placed it inside his pouch. For safekeeping.

Bloody spots stained the white of his bandages. Harry's eyelids felt heavy and swollen. He covered his face with his hands and sat for a few minutes, not moving, enveloped by darkness and stillness. He couldn't hear a sound. Not even Ron breathing. That dusty house, the cup, the dream – everything was gradually flying away, smothered by sunlight that was growing stronger every minute.

Harry felt he actually had someone to come back to.

---------------

_I__f I could start again, _

_A__ million miles away, _

_I__ would keep myself, _

_I__ would find a way…_

-----------------

Draco eyed him indifferently. Harry understood his discontent (Malfoy would probably have preferred to go with him) but he knew he couldn't have stood Malfoy's presence for that week.

Hermione smiled at Ron modestly as he willed himself to take her by the hand, and she led him into the house. Harry came closer to Draco and sat down on the ground before him. Malfoy did so as well, wordlessly. Harry pressed his forehead to the young man's shoulder. The moment of sorrow had passed.

"Don't look," Malfoy whispered. The words, barely audible, slashed through the air, making Harry turn his head abruptly. Draco's fingers felt cold against the back of his neck. "I said do not look. At once. Can you hear anything?"

A branch rattled in the nearby. Harry listened carefully until his ear caught that indistinct sound that explained it all. The vague smell of fur reached his nostrils.

"They're coming."


End file.
